The Crow's Song
by SquishyCool
Summary: Beth and Daryl spend a few more days together in the funeral home and come to terms with all they've lost along the way. But soon, they must decide what comes next. *Soon to be translated into French*
1. Prologue: never Alone again

**A/N: **I don't post my stories to FFN right away anymore, plus I prefer AO3 nowadays. So if you can, please go read this fic on AO3. It includes photos for every chapter and links to the Spotify playlist and the Pinterest board. Thank you! (I will continue to crosspost all my new fics and chapters here. But it may be months after posting on AO3.)  
This fic was originally written for Bethyl Smut Week 2k18 but it took me a year to complete. Yes, there is an explicit smut scene.

* * *

**never Alone again**

The funeral home became… _blurry_. That was the only way Daryl could think to describe it. The graveyard, the grass, the trees, even the night sky. It all blurred, grew foggy, jilted and jumped like some old VHS tape that wouldn't play right. Scattered murmurs of playbacks that mimicked the sound inside his chest, where his heart hammered away at the inside of his shirt and his lungs struggled to expand.

_Pay attention, Daryl._

It was a moment. A blink, a snap of the fingers. One second, he was bursting his way free from the funeral home, hot on Beth's heels. His vision was crisp, clear, bright. He was focused, intent, full of adrenaline and the will – no, the _need_ – to survive. Beth's face was solid in his head. She was the goal. She'd promised not to leave him. He'd told her to meet him by the road. He had to get out there and make sure she was okay, he had to make sure she was safe.

The next second, there was a gunshot.

(Or was it two? He wasn't sure. Still couldn't figure it out.)

And then everything had gone _blurry_. Or foggy. Or like some kind of wistful nightmare, the likes of which Daryl Dixon had never experienced, either in sleeping or in wake. The likes of which his limited vernacular did no justice. Nothing physical about himself had changed, and his goals were certainly no different. He didn't even slow down. Not for a _second_.

But _something_ changed.

_Snap out of it, Daryl!_

The shot was so sudden, so shockingly loud that it pierced the silence, which had previously only been broken by the low groans and growls of approaching Walkers. It was a frightening and foreign sound in Daryl's ears. He and Beth hadn't fired an actual gun in weeks, maybe months. They moved silently, using his crossbow and her knife, always avoiding drawing any attention from unwanted passersby undead or otherwise.

And… Beth didn't _have_ a gun. So what the fuck caused that sound?

His first thought was dark and ominous and sent a cold jolt of dread through his very bones: _People_.

He ran as fast as he could, sprinted across the grass and the dark, weaving his way between staggering straggler geeks. It was so dark out, he could barely see ten feet in front of him in the dim moonlight. But his legs wouldn't allow him to stop, his feet kept pounding against the ground as he raced toward the road, where he'd told Beth to meet him.

And his mind kept repeating, like a ticking clock urging him faster and faster forward: _Beth. Beth. Beth._

"**Beth!**" It burst from his mouth in a dry-throated cry, desperate and reassuring at the same time. _I'm coming for you, just tell me you're okay!_

He hadn't even begun thinking about what he'd do to whatever people he came across when he finally reached her… until he did.

Daryl halted in his tracks, panting as he struggled to catch his breath, eyes searching the scene wildly. He took a wary step forward and his stomach turned as he reached down. He picked up Beth's bag from where it lay abandoned in the dirt and fought back the urge to scream out in rage. Instead, he began looking around wildly.

"**Beth!**" He called out again, his voice cracking with fear.

"Daryl – I'm over here!"

Her voice rang out like music and filled Daryl with overwhelming relief. He dashed toward the direction the sound had come from and slowed when his eyes adjusted and he was finally close enough to see the car in the middle of the road, less than two yards from where he'd found the bag. He exhaled the breath that had been subconsciously hitched in his chest.

But the car was practically invisible to him at first, as were the two fresh corpses on the ground. All he could see was Beth.

She stood there in the dim moonlight, one hand pressed to her head and a blood-soaked knife in her other hand. He could see the look of distress, fear, and _pain_ on her face even before he closed the remaining distance between them and gently grabbed her. He fought the urge to tightly wrap his arms around her and never let her go.

He searched her up and down for wounds, but it appeared she was mostly covered in the usual Walker blood. Then his eyes were quickly drawn to the small trail of fresh blood trickling down the side of her neck, slowly seeping from the spot on her head where she had her palm tightly pressed. Lastly, he searched her face only to find tears in her wide blue eyes and fear deeply ingrained into her features.

For the first time since they'd fled the prison together, Daryl was almost positive he was way more terrified than Beth was at the moment. Even though he could feel her entire body trembling beneath his hands.

"What happened – are you alrigh'?" He asked frantically, reaching up to gingerly pry her small hand away from the wound so he could see it.

She winced but didn't pull away, slowly nodding and responding with a shaky voice. "They – they came outta _nowhere_, an' they tried ta _ambush_ me. But I-I fought back. I thought they were Walkers, I-I stabbed one in the neck. An' then the other one, he – he had a gun… He almost blew my _head_ off, Daryl."

A fat knot formed in Daryl's throat as he gazed down at the bloody wound on Beth's head, just behind her left ear at the base of her scalp. The bright red blood slowly trickled outward, seeping down the side of her neck and soaking the collar of her yellow polo. The gray cardigan he'd found for her less than a month ago was splattered in someone else's blood, and he slowly realized it _wasn't_ the usual Walker blood. His fingers gingerly prodded the wound and Beth hissed in pain, wincing away slightly.

"Sorry," he grumbled, squinting down and inspecting closer. Once he was satisfied, he pulled away and grabbed the bandana from his belt, wiping away some of the blood on her neck before pressing the cloth to her wound. "Jus' grazed ya, ain't no bullet there."

_Thank God,_ he wanted to say.

What would he have done if he'd run out here to find Beth lying dead on the ground, right alongside the two assholes that tried to ambush her? He couldn't even _think_ about that right now. Or ever. That sad and lonely train of thought always wound up taking him to the same destination, and it was the same place he'd have ended up if he hadn't encountered a bit of blind luck and escaped with Beth from the prison.

Daryl had lost enough already. If he lost anymore, he was pretty goddamn sure he'd lose _himself_ right along with it.

"I – I was so _scared_," Beth breathed out, still trembling all over, still staring up at him with those big watery eyes as she gently placed her palm over the bandana to hold it against the wound so he could pull his hand away. "I think – I think they wanted ta _kidnap_ me or somethin'."

"Yeah, well I wouldn'ta let 'em. If you hadn't killed 'em, _I_ would've." Daryl's blood boiled at the very thought of Beth being snatched up and he finally took a step back just long enough to glance at the fresh corpses lying on the ground nearby.

They were dressed in police uniforms. It was the weirdest goddamn thing Daryl had seen since the dead had begun to walk. What the hell kind of "cops" were these, what kind of cops were even still _around_? Even Rick had retired his uniform months ago, and it had been impossible to keep it as impeccably clean as the uniforms on these guys were. And the car that sat idle in the middle of the road, motor quietly humming, was well-maintained with a bright white cross painted on the back window.

"You sure yer okay? They didn't do nothin' else?" He asked, giving Beth another once-over before staring intently into her eyes.

She looked down at herself and at the bloody knife in her hand, as if she'd forgotten she had a body. And he saw her tremble a little harder, but only for a brief moment, and then she met his scrutinizing gaze again and nodded weakly, lips pursed tightly together and defiance flaring to life in her eyes.

The survival switch flipped back on inside Daryl's head and he immediately began thinking of all the possibilities and dangers that could be coming their way. Without hesitation, he moved toward the bodies of the dead cops and unsheathed his knife, making sure there was no possibility of reanimation from either of the corpses. Then he scanned the surrounding area, taking into account the few remaining geeks that had detected his and Beth's presence and were leisurely ambling towards them. Double-checking for signs of any other living humans, any people who wanted to try and steal what remained of his will to live.

But he wasn't about to let her out of his sight right now. Or ever again, for that matter. He couldn't risk another accident, or an ambush, or a kidnapping, or what the fuck ever could _and_ _would_ happen. Beth was far from helpless, but with a bum ankle, the odds weren't exactly stacked in her favor either. He wasn't sure who he had to thank for her lucky brush with the asshole cops, but if it was God, he reckoned he might just become a man of faith.

Daryl circled an arm around Beth's middle and guided her toward the passenger side door of the car. "C'mon – gotta get this thing outta sight an' get rid a those bodies. Might have friends that wanna come lookin' for 'em."

"_Ugh_, I hope not," Beth remarked as she went along with him, sliding into the passenger seat without resistance and letting out a sigh of relief once she'd sat down.

"Yeah – me either."

* * *

Dispersing the nearby geeks, parking the car, looting the cops' bodies for any useful items they might've had, and then dragging them out of the road and into the grass had been another blur of adrenaline and wistful fog for Daryl. He was flooded with relief, but his muscles were still tensed and his nerves were still on edge. He felt anxious and panicky to the point that he was barely present inside his own head during the process.

The only details he remembered clearly were the sounds of a murder of crows loudly squawking nearby, ringing in his ears. And then how soft and warm Beth's hands were when she reached over and grabbed his while they sat together in the car and silence surrounded them once more.

"You did good, Beth," he muttered, gazing into her eyes, recognizing the traces of fear and doubt that lay there.

She'd _killed_ two men – two _living_ men. He knew it was nothing to be taken lightly, not for Beth. She'd never had to do such a thing before tonight. But she had. She'd fought back, she'd proven how strong she really was. How strong Daryl had known she was all along.

_Pay attention, Daryl._

"Did what ya had to," he added.

She nodded, lips pursed tightly. Then she glanced away, gazing out the window thoughtfully. As he furrowed his brow in confusion, giving her small hands a light squeeze, she looked back to him and smiled. Soft and kind. Reassuring.

"So did you," she said.

He wasn't sure what she meant. He hadn't _done_ anything – she'd saved herself. But he didn't say that because he knew that she was already well aware.

* * *

The cops had two guns on them, as well as two full clips of ammo – minus a couple of rounds, just as expected. Once the car was parked amongst a thick shroud of trees across the road from the funeral home, Daryl had given Beth one of the guns and tucked the other into his waistband. But Beth only held it for a moment before setting it on the small end table in the entryway of the house and leaving it there beside her dirty bag.

She didn't offer to help him clear the bodies of all the dispersed undead from the small house, but he didn't ask either. In fact, he didn't _want_ her to help. She needed to rest, which he told her right after cleaning her wound and wrapping a makeshift bandage around her head. To his surprise, she didn't argue.

By sunrise, the corpses of the men who'd tried to take Beth were reduced to smoldering ashes beneath a larger pile of burnt Walker bodies, the traps and alarms were once again set up around the perimeter (and elaborately lengthened), and the funeral home was back to being an undisturbed refuge. Daryl was exhausted and dripping with sweat, but Beth was alive and with him, and that was more than enough. His entire body had been so wracked with anxiety and fear throughout the entire night that he could barely recall going through all the motions of clean-up and disposal and everything else.

The only thing he really remembered was talking to Beth. Watching her from the corner of his eye as she smiled and cracked a light-hearted joke while he dragged the heavy body of a decayed corpse across the porch. Sending a warmth through his chest that only _she_ was capable of conjuring. She was always there, nearby, standing off to the side and offering a smile and a teasing tilt of the head, blonde hair glowing in the candlelight. Blue eyes dancing with mischief in Daryl's periphery.

When he finally sat down beside her at the table, as if they were picking right back up where they'd left off hours before, it felt like he was taking his first real breath after being underwater for too long. The air filled his lungs in an entirely new way and he almost became light-headed for the briefest moment. All of his muscles relaxed at once and the tension seeped outward from every limb. He felt himself sliding into a place that was made for him, crafted specifically for his figure and molded with no one else in mind.

His place beside Beth.

Where she was gradually scooting her chair just a little closer. Slowly and barely closing the distance between them. Ever-so-carefully reaching across the table to grasp his hands in hers once again.

He wondered to himself why it took almost losing her for him to realize how much he _needed_ her.

_Snap out of it, Daryl!_

When she opened her mouth to speak, he momentarily thought she might ask him what changed his mind again. She had a similar look in her eyes and an oddly familiar expression dancing across her face. But when she spoke, her tone was vastly different, and he quickly realized that their little conversation several hours ago was a far-off memory.

"You must be starvin' after all that – here, have mine," she said, sliding the half-eaten jar of peanut butter toward him across the small tabletop.

He furrowed his brow and gave her hand a light squeeze. "You need ta eat, too. We had a long night."

Beth shrugged and glanced away, eyes drifting toward the small window at the other side of the room. She gazed thoughtfully at the early morning sky and replied softly, "I didn't do much. 'Sides, I'm too tired ta eat. You need your strength."

Daryl watched her for a moment, studying the wistful expression on her face and trying to make sense of her odd behavior. But he quickly resolved that she was still reeling from the events of the night, probably struggling to process everything. He had to remember that being a killer wasn't in everyone's nature.

Or maybe she was worrying about who might come looking for them next. If that were the case, he had to admit that he was pretty worried, too.

Whatever it was, he reassured himself that she would eat after she got some good sleep. He'd make sure of it.


	2. day one

**day one**

Daryl promised to stay up and keep watch but he wound up drifting off perched in a chair in the entryway, crossbow loosely grasped in his hands, head lolling uncomfortably to the side and a steady line of drool leading from his mouth to the sleeve of his shirt.

_Daryl, snap out of it._

He awoke with a jolt and immediately sat upright, looking around wildly and roughly wiping a hand across his mouth. Naturally, his first thought was, _Where's Beth?_

"Hey – you're awake."

The familiar voice instantly calmed him and he turned his head to find Beth standing at the bottom of the stairs, gazing at him with a warm smile. He hadn't even sensed her presence at first and he couldn't tell if she'd suddenly appeared there or if she'd been standing and watching him for some time. She'd cleaned herself up while he was sleeping, her milky skin free of the smeared blood and dirt that had stained it, though she still wore the bloody yellow polo and the rust-splattered gray cardigan. The gold in her hair caught the glow of the early evening sun leaking in through the windows and her cerulean eyes seemed to brighten when they met his. He stood up and set the crossbow aside, turning to step toward her.

"Why didn't ya wake me up? Told ya I'd keep watch – "

She chuckled and rolled her eyes, interjecting, "Yeah, well, you needed some sleep. Ain't nobody comin' for us today. I kept watch just fine."

_You don't know that._ Daryl frowned and grunted in disagreement. "An' how 'bout _yer_ sleep? That ankle ain't gonna get any better if ya keep runnin' 'round here on it, up an' down the stairs an' shit."

Beth shrugged, still smiling. "It's feelin' better already. You jus' worry 'bout yer_self_, Mr. Dixon. You're not my chaperone, ya know."

He grunted in response, unable to tear his eyes away from her as a smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth. "Never said I was."

She flashed him a coy half-smile in return and he fought the urge to step toward her, to close the distance that separated them. He was still battling the desire to wrap his arms tightly around her and never let go.

"You eat yet? C'mon," he jerked his head toward the kitchen and gestured for her to walk with him.

She shrugged but joined him nonetheless and he didn't miss the smoothness in her stride – her ankle _must've_ been feeling better because her limp had virtually disappeared. His heart skipped lightly in his chest, full of hope as he walked beside her into the kitchen and headed straight to the cupboard above the counter.

"I'm okay, I ate while you were sleepin'," Beth commented from behind him as she silently took a seat at the table.

Daryl opened the cupboard and gazed at the small supply curiously, counting what was left and creasing his brow in slight confusion. There was no other food missing besides what they'd shared hours ago. So what had she eaten?

He shook his head and dismissed his forgetfulness, telling himself that it had been a long night and his brain wasn't working properly at the moment. He was probably just miscounting. Besides, she wouldn't _lie_ to him. There was no reason to.

_Pay attention, Daryl…_

"Might wanna try ta save what's left – ya know, fer later," she said, raising her eyebrows and quickly suggesting, "We could go huntin' before it gets too dark."

Daryl smirked and shut the cupboard doors, turning around and leaning back against the edge of the countertop. He met her gaze and nodded in agreement, choosing not to think too long on the possibilities of _later_. "Sounds like a good plan. You sure yer okay ta get back at it, though?"

Beth scoffed and gave him another light-hearted smile, sending reassuring warmth flooding through his every muscle. "Maybe I'll jus' stand back an' _observe_ this time."

He chuckled softly and joked, "Wanna watch the master at work, huh? _This_ time."

She nodded and laughed, the sound filling the small kitchen around them like a tinkling melody. He had no desire to disagree with her.

* * *

Based on Daryl's estimation, they had about an hour of sunlight left before it would be too dark to safely hunt. He and Beth quickly set to work, making their way silently into the woods off to the side of the house and almost immediately finding a few decent trails to follow. They didn't speak, communicating rather with gestures and looks as they'd grown accustomed to doing over the last few months.

It was Beth who spotted their first kill, pointing it out to him with an eager smile on her face. They crouched down close to the ground together while he silently took aim with the crossbow. And a few seconds later, he was watching her carefully approach the dead rabbit, reaching down and picking it up to hold triumphantly before her. Daryl's heart skipped as he watched her excitedly walk back toward him, rabbit and bloody bolt in hand.

Their second kill would've disappeared into a thicket of undergrowth had Daryl not turned his head and spotted it at just the right moment. He could see Beth from the corner of his eye, quickly turning her head to see what he was aiming at, and then the glow of joy that lit up her face as she watched his arrow pierce the air and embed itself into the soft body of a fat squirrel. Pride swelled inside him, but not because of his successful shot.

After that, with the sun falling faster behind the horizon, he was preparing to call it a day and shuffle Beth back inside the safety of the funeral home, away from the woods and the dangerous darkness that was growing around them. The thought of more cops showing up was ever prevalent in the back of his head, though he found it difficult to worry _too much_ when Beth seemed so hopeful and carefree.

Then he spotted another lone rabbit, sitting peacefully at the base of a tree in the near distance, completely oblivious to any presence of a threat. He nodded toward it silently, exchanging a look with Beth as she followed his line of vision and saw the potential target. Her eyes lit up with excitement and she looked back to him with raised eyebrows and a half-smile.

He held out the crossbow and she looked down at it quizzically at first, then smiled wider and silently took it in her hands. As they'd done countless times over the last few weeks, he carefully took his position behind her and helped guide her hands to proper placement on the weapon. But she was a quick learner and she hadn't forgotten what he already taught her, so once she was aimed and ready, he took half a step back and watched intently.

Effortlessly, she took aim and fired, and an arrow whizzed through the air and pierced the rabbit's fat middle. Daryl clicked his tongue and exchanged a look of pride with Beth, her blue eyes beaming against the gathering darkness. She lowered the crossbow and he felt her gaze on his back as he quietly walked over and picked up the dead rabbit, yanking the bolt out and inspecting it closely.

_Snap out of it, Daryl!_

"Daryl – we have ta go," she said suddenly, her quiet and shaky voice breaking the silence of the woods.

He stopped and turned around to look up from the dead rabbit in his hands and found her gazing off to his left, crossbow still hanging loosely in her grasp and trepidation pooling in her eyes. He quickly turned his head and saw what she'd spotted: a small group of the groaning dead stumbling through the bushes and undergrowth off in the distance, getting closer and closer by the second. It seemed they hadn't quite picked up on Beth and Daryl's presence yet. It wasn't a lot of them, but it was more than he wanted to risk tonight.

He hooked the fresh rabbit to the stringer on his back and instinctively reached out to grab Beth's wrist. Without hesitation, she slid her wrist from his grasp and grabbed his hand firmly, then followed him quickly and quietly out of the woods, carrying his crossbow in her other hand. They slipped out of sight of the Walkers and emerged from the cover of trees minutes later, panting softly and making a beeline toward the house. The sun was sinking lower and lower behind the horizon, darkness becoming thicker around them with each passing moment.

"Didn't even _hear_ those damn things," Daryl grumbled, squeezing Beth's hand as they approached the undisturbed mortuary. He couldn't help but feel slightly ashamed and guilty that he hadn't been paying as much attention as he should have.

She squeezed his hand back and looked over to give him a reassuring smile. "Well, good thing I was bein' so _observant_ then, huh?"

He smirked, the guilt instantly melting away. "Guess so."

She laughed softly, pushing open the front door and leading him inside by the hand. "I learned from the best."

A rush of blood started at his neck and crept up into his cheeks. He quickly turned away to find the candles and begin lighting them.

* * *

It wasn't until they were sitting on the back porch together, beneath the soft white glow of moonlight, and Daryl was skinning their kills that he realized he had _two_ knives sheathed on his belt. Confused, he pulled out Beth's knife and examined it in his hands. The blood of the dead cop still speckled the blade, dried black. Then he looked over at Beth quizzically.

"Why do I got this? You give it to me earlier or somethin'?" He asked, slightly shaken at the realization that he had no recollection of ever clipping her knife to his belt.

She furrowed her brow and frowned up at him from where she sat leaning against a support beam. "Yeah – I told ya to hold onto it for me."

He continued staring at her in confusion. "Why? It's yers, ya need it." He stepped closer and held the knife out for her to take.

But she put a hand up and shook her head, replying nonchalantly, "Jus' hold onto it fer now. You'll get more use out of it than me."

_Pay attention, Daryl._

"Huh? Why ya say that?"

She gave him a knowing smirk and shrugged again, blinking slowly as she gazed up at him. "I ain't goin' nowhere without _you_ anytime soon, why would I need it?"

Despite the lack of clarity, he couldn't bring himself to disagree with that sentiment, and a foggy few moments later, he was using his hunting knife to skin the dead rabbits and squirrel while Beth's knife sat snugly sheathed on his belt. Her voice filled his ears and occupied his mind while he worked. She spoke quietly and light-heartedly, playfully teasing and joking with him as he went through the process of cleaning and preparing their next meal. Casually reminiscing on the distant and not-so-distant memories they shared – the pleasant ones, anyway.

It wasn't long before Beth was sitting at the table in the kitchen once again, watching Daryl as he portioned out the cooked meat onto two plates. She'd gone briefly quiet, letting the comfortable silence settle between them as it so naturally did.

And without her melodic voice to keep his mind preoccupied, Daryl began thinking about the last time they'd sat down to eat together like this, late at night with nothing but candlelight and one another's company. He thought about that damned dog, still subconsciously berating himself for letting his guard down and putting Beth in danger.

_What changed your mind…?_

But now that she was safe, he couldn't help thinking about that dog in a different way – particularly in the way that it had brought such a huge smile to her face, and how eager she'd been to lure it into their new little "home," how much she'd wanted to help it. He started thinking about how he'd give just about anything to be able to see that kind of pure joy appear on her face every single day.

"Wonder if that dog's still out there somewhere," his gravelly voice filled the kitchen as he took his seat at the table beside her, two plates full of fire-cooked rabbit and squirrel meat set before them.

Her eyes quickly flicked over to meet his but she didn't smile. "I dunno, but I don't have such a good feelin' about it…"

Daryl's brow creased and he paused. "What d'ya mean?"

She shrugged and looked down at the plate of food before her, picking up the fork resting beside it. "I mean, it's survived this long out there on its own. Maybe we should leave it alone."

He shrugged, studying the unusual expression of discomfort on Beth's face. He hadn't expected this kind of a response, but maybe one near-death experience had been one too many for her delicate sense of optimism. His stomach turned and the bite of food he'd been chewing was suddenly tasting bland on his tongue.

_There are still good people left._

"I jus' – don't wanna risk anythin', ya know?" She added quietly, and he could see her looking over at him from the corner of his eye. "I don't want us ta get separated again."

Daryl nodded, forcing the food down his throat. He wasn't about to deny just how deeply he understood her paranoia, her fear of the repercussions that could be faced from offering unconditional kindness in such a harsh and unforgiving world. But if he'd learned anything from her, it was that _vulnerability_ was synonymous with _living_.

_I'm not gonna leave you!_

He replied hoarsely, "Ain't no damn dog gonna be the end of _us_."

She was quiet for a long moment and he listened to the faint sound of her chewing and swallowing, chewing and swallowing. Then she paused and her fork clinked against her plate. She asked, "So, what – you wanna stay here a while? Adopt a dog, put up a Christmas tree…?"

He looked up from his plate and found her gazing over at him, a playful glint in her eyes. His stomach settled and the corner of his mouth tugged upward in a smirk. "I'ono – ya never finished that thank-you note."

She quirked a brow and he jerked his head toward the half-written note that was still lying on the other side of the table, pen resting atop the paper just like Beth had left it. She chuckled softly and took another bite of food, chewing slowly and waiting to respond until she was looking back down at her plate to stab another piece of meat with her fork. "Yeah, well… I'll finish it. Then we should prob'ly take what we need an' head out."

Daryl swallowed another gamey piece of meat, heart speeding up just the slightest as their conversation began to re-enter the serious territory it had been tiptoeing into such a short time ago. He quietly asked, "Where to?"

Beth shrugged and her eyes drifted upward, toward the ceiling, as her expression grew thoughtful and almost dreamy. She twirled an empty fork between dainty fingers absent-mindedly. "_Hmm_… I dunno, somewhere quiet. Away from everythin' else. Maybe California – close to the beach. The water's so beautiful… Daddy took us all out there for a vacation once when I was a kid. I always thought it'd be nice ta be buried near the ocean."

He furrowed his brow, mouth quickly going dry as her blue eyes drifted back to his. "Why ya talkin' 'bout where ya wanna be buried – I asked where ya wanna _live_."

She smirked, eyes dancing with silent laughter as she took another bite and went quiet. Like she had some sort of inside joke that he wasn't in on.

_Daryl, snap out of it._

He watched her curiously, partially taken aback by her response. But in a way, it made sense to him. And he couldn't help but begin imagining how Beth would look standing on a beach, sea breeze whipping through her golden hair, salty ocean water misting her pale skin… He had the sudden urge to pack them up right then and there and begin driving west. But his logical side knew that was a ridiculous plan. They needed something safer, something more realistic. Although the end goal was all-around the same: finding somewhere that they could settle down in peace and live without interruption.

Somewhere that'd be comfortable for a girl who liked to sing and a one-eyed dog who liked to run around.

"Maybe we can start loadin' up that car tonight – check how much gas we got, see if there's a map," Beth's soft voice pulled Daryl's attention back to her, and he gazed at hopeful blue eyes from beneath shaggy strands of dark hair, watching her lips curl around each word. "Jus' start gettin' ready, in case we gotta leave fast, ya know?"

He nodded. "Sure. Ain't a bad idea."

She smiled and inexplicably, every ounce of doubt lingering inside his head dissipated all at once. She giggled and a warmth encompassed him, soaking deep into his skin.

"Maybe we can go live in the Redwood Forest. Build a treehouse in those huge trees – we'd never have ta worry about Walkers gettin' in."

He chuckled. "Yer jus' _full_ a good ideas tonight, ain't ya?"

* * *

Daryl wrapped up a small chunk of cooked meat that Beth had been unable to finish and took it with him for his short trek to the car. She offered to stay in the house and he was grateful because his paranoia had already been urging him to leave her in the shroud of safety, _just in case_. Besides, he didn't plan on taking more than a few minutes to go out and perform a thorough search of the car, check the fuel gauge, stash a small supply of necessities somewhere discreet, and then head straight back into the funeral home.

Once he was close to the road, he glanced around to reassure that he was completely alone and unnoticed, ears perked for the sounds of geeks or one-eyed dogs. Then he set out the small portion of meat in the grass, a few steps away from the dirt-and-gravel of the road in a spot that was visible from the front window of the house.

After another glance around and no sign of white fur or living creatures, Daryl continued his half-jog to the spot amongst the thick dark trees where he'd hidden the empty car.

The keys grew heavy in his pocket, and even though his hand was slipped inside and his fingertips were grazing the smooth metal of the keyring, he couldn't quite manage to grasp them. His feet slowed and his pulse began racing, thumping prominently against his jaw. The muscles in his legs were suddenly full of lead and ice, abruptly halting his pace and freezing him in place.

The pounding of his heart was the only thing he could hear, flashes of blood-soaked blonde hair and strange lifeless eyes surfacing in the back of his mind and then rapidly fading away.

_Pay attention, Daryl!_

There was a bone-chilling dread settling at the pit of his stomach and Daryl could no longer control his own limbs, couldn't force them to continue moving forward. He was petrified for reasons he couldn't explain let alone comprehend. There was no sense of present danger or imminent doom or any other threat whatsoever. Yet every single instinct he possessed was telling him to _turn around! Walk away! Get back to Beth!_

So he did.

The house, the graveyard, the trees and the dew-covered grass were all blurred. Foggy. Static-y like a broken television. Daryl moved on auto-pilot, nearly sprinting through the darkness until his boots were eliciting tired creaks from the old wood of the porch.

He burst through the front door, letting a deep breath of relief escape his open mouth as his eyes landed on Beth. She was sitting on the bottom step of the stairs, waiting and watching for him in the entryway.

As he closed the door behind him and stepped toward her, she stood up and slowly approached him. Her eyebrows were raised expectantly, eyes drifting up and down his body in brief and silent observation.

"What happened?" She asked.

Daryl cleared his throat and shrugged sheepishly. "I don't – I got a bad feelin'. That I should come back. 'S everythin' okay?"

Beth's confusion and slight concern faded from her face, replaced with understanding and a faint trace of annoyance. But she just nodded slowly and locked her warm gaze on his, stilling his trembling muscles from where she stood. She seemed to be looking right through him, staring straight into the dark depths of his guilt-ridden soul. She didn't need any more explanation.

"Yes, Daryl. I'm okay."

_Pretty soon, I won't need you at all._

* * *

He insisted on checking Beth's wound and she didn't object. They sat on the thick rug between the small sofa and the fireplace in the den, door to the entryway left ajar so they could listen for any sounds of disturbance outside. He'd built a small fire and stoked it until it was casting a bright and steady glow around the room and the warmth of the miniature blaze washed over them amidst the crackle of burning wood. Her legs were crisscrossed and she'd left her boots resting behind the sofa, right beside his. He tucked his socked feet beneath him while he inspected her injury.

The strip of cloth he'd used to wrap around her head in a makeshift bandage was partially stained with dried blood but the wound beneath it was already healing. A thick scab was forming along with the evidence of a fat scar that would remain forever, but Beth didn't wince when he gently touched it and her eyelids barely fluttered when he cleaned it and rewrapped the clean bit of cloth around her head.

He was silently thanking God or whatever force was out there that had kept the bullet from lodging itself inside her brain, and he had to forcefully push away the looming thoughts of _what would I do if I'd lost her…_

"Yer not gonna blame _yourself_ again, are you?" Her voice interrupted his ominous considerations.

He leaned back and begrudgingly smirked, averting his eyes away from her knowing stare and focusing instead on wiping his hands with the clean washcloth he'd found in a closet. He mumbled, "Have I gotten that predictable?"

"Don't be a smartass – I'm _serious_," she clarified, tone unwavering against the crackle of the fire.

Daryl couldn't find the strength to lift his gaze up to hers. He stared down at his scarred and scratched hands, the blood that stained his fingers and had become impossible to scrub away. He could feel the look she was giving him without having to see it.

She continued confidently, "It's not _your_ fault. _None_ of it's your fault. You did everythin' you could – you did _good_, Daryl Dixon. By me… By my daddy, and Rick, and Carol an' Glenn an' Maggie. By _everybody_."

A knot formed in his throat but he quickly swallowed it back and responded hoarsely, "Might not be _all_ my fault, but… Still got a ways ta go 'fore I can agree with all that."

Beth huffed out a breath and he could see her wide eyes flaring with defiance in his periphery. He wasn't sure why she was being so insistent at this very moment, especially after the long twenty-four hours they'd just had.

_Snap out of it, Daryl…_

Maybe she was feeling just as doubtful as he'd always felt. Maybe their run-in with a couple of _really_ _bad_ people had smothered the feeble flame of hope she'd been nursing during their long journey, that quietly persistent urge that there were still good people like them left somewhere out in the world. Maybe she was beginning to question her own faith after being pushed to such a rocky and life-altering edge.

That was a thought that made his heart sink clear down to the rug beneath him. Had he poisoned her with his toxic pessimism?

_I don't think the good ones survive._

He set the washcloth aside and reached out to gently grasp her small warm hands between his. She lifted her eyebrows and her mouth settled into a satisfied smile as he finally met her gaze with an insistence of his own. A persistent optimism that he wasn't very experienced with but had come easier and easier with every day spent beside Beth.

He struggled to articulate exactly what he wanted to say at first, stammering through until he found leverage, "It ain't gonna – It ain't 'cause a _guilt_ that I wanna keep you _alive_, girl. I ain't ever let ya outta my sight before, I sure as shit ain't gonna start now…"

He paused and watched the slight discontent beginning to shadow across her face.

His persistence faltered and his voice grew hoarse as he finished, "But ya asked what changed my mind, well… you _know_. Y'already _know_, Beth. You weren't wrong about there bein' _good_ people, or somethin' worth _living for_… We jus'… gotta find it. Somewhere."

_And there ain't no way in hell I could ever live with myself knowing I got __**your**__ blood on my hands, too, _he thought.

He watched the shock and pleasant surprise gradually lift her features, eliciting a wider smile on her face that reached the blues of her eyes. He wanted to look away, down at her hands squeezing his between them, but he couldn't tear his gaze from hers.

Beth's voice was soft and timid, and Daryl was eager for every word that slipped from between her lips as he watched the glow slowly reappear in her eyes. "We already found it… _You_ just need ta learn how to _accept_ it."

He blinked, absorbing her statement and rolling it over and over in his head, trying to make sense of it. Trying to make sense of the combination that had formed with the sweet lilt of her voice and the longsuffering expression in her stare. Trying to make sense of how he could feel like he was both floating and drowning at the same time. How his fingers could be growing numb when they were grasped so tightly in her warm hands.

_Pay attention, Daryl._

His lips were pressed tightly together and the silence encompassed them both for a long moment. Then Beth leaned in, barely a few inches closer, but close enough that her familiar saccharine scent was invading his every sense and lifting him even farther from gravity's clutch.

Her tone was serious but soft, speaking to him in a way that _very_ few people in the entirety of his life had ever taken the time to speak to him. And for the first time, he was inclined to listen. And not only to listen but to _believe_ her.

"I know Merle made you think that nobody else would ever care about you – or _could_ ever care about you, but that just _isn't_ true… You see that by now, right? After everything… you _know_ it. You know he was _wrong_."

_Ain't nobody ever gonna care about you 'cept me, Li'l Brother._

That haunting old record that played on a loop inside the darkest trenches of his memories began to skip and rewind, flickering and fading until it melted itself down like cheap plastic and seeped right out of his head entirely. She was right. Every single person he'd lost thus far had proven his asshole of a big brother _wrong_.

Even Merle had proven _himself_ wrong at the end of the day.

But that didn't mean Daryl wanted to acknowledge it. Not after everything that happened. Yet that was how Beth _always_ managed to get under his skin – by telling him blatantly to his face all the things he was choosing to ignore. How did she always know?

He could taste bile at the back of his throat and he swallowed hard, finally finding the willpower to tear his eyes away from Beth's penetrating stare and look down at their interlaced fingers instead. Their clasped hands, the contrast of her porcelain skin against his tanned and bruised knuckles.

"I _didn't_ know… till it was almos' too late."

He wasn't even sure the voice that had grumbled out an ashamed response was his own until he felt Beth scooting across the rug and getting closer, saw her small form inching toward him and then felt the heat of her body leaning against his. Their hands were still clasped together, resting on conjoined thighs with their backs against the front of the sofa. And then he felt her head on his shoulder.

"As long as yer still alive, it's never too late," she whispered.

A chill ran down the length of Daryl's spine, but he felt Beth squeeze his hand tightly in reassurance and the tendrils of ice were immediately replaced with warmth and the sensation of morning sunlight.

_As long as __**we're**__ still alive,_ he wanted to say.

But he was too tired to form the words and all too comfortable sitting with her in silence, basking in the glow of the fireplace. There was no need to interrupt the peaceful moment with something that didn't have to be spoken aloud in order to be mutually understood.

She already knew.

* * *

Daryl had intended to keep first watch, particularly so he could keep a quiet eye on the small pile of bait he'd set out near the road from through the front window. But then he awoke to find the night had grown much darker and the warmth of the fireplace had lessened and dimmed. The flames had receded to weak flickers amongst a pile of mostly ash.

He blinked the sleep from his eyes, resisting the urge to leap up and look around for signs of danger, but instantly relaxed when he recognized the familiar weight pressed against his side and still resting on his shoulder. Everything was silent and peaceful inside the house, the faint sounds of chirping crickets and squawking crows echoing around the darkness outside.

_You're gonna have to snap out of it soon, Daryl…_

His head was still foggy and his vision hazy, a dream-like film plastered over everything in the dimly-lit den and making him unsure that he was really awake. And when he began to lazily turn his all-too-heavy head to look at Beth, he felt her warm palm on the side of his neck and her hair tickling his exposed throat and the edge of his jaw.

Then the softest pair of lips planted a gentle kiss on his prickly unshaven cheek and his eyelids reflexively fluttered closed once more. He melted into the rug, into the front of the couch, and into her small frame.

Sleep reached its long arms up and wrapped him in a comforting embrace – or was that Beth?

_Daryl, are you paying attention yet?_

The last thing he heard before drifting back off was her breathy whisper in his ear, "You've come so far, and you've fought so hard. It's time to rest now…"

Daryl wanted to argue, to disagree and fight the sleep that was dragging him into a place of vulnerable solace. But he didn't have the energy to pull himself away from her warmth, nor the desire. And Beth's soft voice gave him the last bit of reassurance he needed to fully let go of consciousness, as if she _knew_.

"Don't worry, I'll keep you safe."

He had no doubt that she would.


	3. day two: sunlight

**day two: sunlight**

The first slivers of early morning sunlight hit Daryl's face like a freight train and shook him violently from sleep. He jolted and sat upright, eyes opening and looking around wildly. The fireplace held nothing but glowing embers and thick ash now and the traces of sunlight leaking in through the windows were sparse and grayish, though the warmth of morning was beginning to make its way into the cold dark mortuary.

At first, he wondered where Beth was – panicking slightly. Until the sound of tinkling piano keys reached his ears and registered in his brain and suddenly the lack of her solid and warm presence beside him made sense. His racing heart slowed almost immediately and he relaxed.

They were still safe. _She_ was still safe.

He wandered out into the entryway, a familiar melody leading his way and echoing quietly throughout the whole house. He could barely hear Beth's voice singing along in tune, rising and falling and sending small bursts of electricity through his chest.

"…_Or I'll disappear. So we will drink beer all day, and our guards will give way, and we'll be good… we'll be good…_"

Daryl walked with intent toward the front window, stepping silently across the wooden floor. When he reached the glass, he peered out and squinted his eyes, focusing on the small area in the distance where he'd set out the bait several hours before. He wiped a hand roughly across his eyes, rubbing away the remaining bits of sleep. He couldn't remember the last time he'd slept for more than two or three hours at a time yet it had seemed so easy when he was drifting off next to Beth in front of a crackling fire.

There was just enough sunlight breaking past the horizon that he could make out the small blurry mound near the road. It was still untouched, just as he'd left it. His stomach momentarily fell with traces of disappointment but he quickly turned away and began walking toward the parlor, where he knew he would find Beth. He told himself he'd check back for that damned dog in an hour or two – surely the mutt would want an easy breakfast.

He wandered slowly and tentatively into the parlor, stopping in the doorway and leaning against the frame. It was almost like déjà vu, seeing her blonde hair and the back of her gray cardigan as she sat at the piano and played, singing like she'd forgotten he was there. He wasn't sure if she'd noticed his presence or not but she didn't turn her head and look at him or stop singing. Her arms continued moving, dainty fingers fluttering across faded piano keys.

Another melody began to fill the house, a song Daryl didn't recognize and had never heard her play before. It was upbeat and comforting, drifting along with her angel-like voice as she began singing again. Even from where he stood across the small parlor, he could see the way the muscles in her shoulders tensed and relaxed over and over beneath the fabric of her shirts, the way her hands fluidly danced across the piano and created music as if it were second nature to her.

The ability to conjure soul-lifting, heart-swelling sounds from silence seemed to come just as easily to Beth as breathing.

"_Oh, I'm only human, I need a god – to show me what we won when we fought. From morning to dusk, our tears causing rust on all of our weapons… And he's just a man, but deep in his eyes, I see all this love without the lies. From now till forever, we'd be so much better without the weapons… Empty my gun, dull my knife. Build a house, make a life. We lie in bed and let the record play, I hope that he and I will always be… this way…_"

Daryl creased his brow and rested his shoulder against the door frame, arms crossed over his chest as he watched Beth silently. Listened intently. Let the goosebumps run their course up and down his arms and legs. He had a feeling she knew he was there, that she'd felt his presence by now. But he had no intention of interrupting her.

He wanted to hear the rest. He wanted to know how this song ended.

"_Oh, I'm only human, but I've found a match. He doesn't hurt, he doesn't scratch. I'm just some girl but I've found a soul – he doesn't push, he doesn't pull. He's just a man but he's like a savior, that I don't deserve after my bad behavior… He says he's wasted with nobody left. But all that I see… is per-fect… Empty my gun, dull my knife. Build a house, make a life. We lie in bed and let the record play. I hope that he and I will always be… this way…_"

Her fingers gradually slowed until they came to a pause over the keys and her voice drifted off, still rebounding inside Daryl's skull for several seconds. Then her blonde ponytail slightly bounced as she turned her head, bright blue eyes meeting his and nearly knocking him over with their intensity. Her lips curved into a small smile at the sight of him and she blushed, turning her head away again, fingers still hovering over the quieted keys.

"Never heard that one before," he muttered, smirking.

She flashed him a sheepish smile over her shoulder. "I never played it before. Not out loud. Just somethin' I been workin' on…"

_Pay attention, Daryl._

His smirk disappeared and he straightened his back, tightening his arms across his chest and clearing his throat, unable to resist his budding curiosity. "So how's it end?"

Her soft chuckle reached his ears and sent a fresh wave of warmth through his entire body. He could see her fingers taking position over the piano keys once more, the muscles in her arms and back flexing, tensing, preparing to play.

_I thought my singin' annoyed you._

"You wanna hear it?" She asked, her tone half-joking.

"Yeah. I do," he responded simply.

There was a long pause and for a second he expected her to laugh and turn away shaking her head, too embarrassed to share something so personal. But she didn't. Instead, the soft tinkling of piano keys filled the room once more and slowly drifted out into the rest of the house. It sunk down deep into Daryl's skin, and then her voice was penetrating his bones all over again.

The song picked right back up where Beth had left off.

"_I am done with the jealousy, done with the fighting, done with the words that feel just like biting. I have found a new man with a heart he wants to share – it just goes to show life isn't always unfair. I have pumped new blood into this heart for him to take, we're gonna move to California, to a house on the lake. And someday, we will kiss in front of family and friends. Only cake and champagne and no need… for weapons… Empty my gun, dull my knife. Build a house, make a life. We lie in bed and let the record play, I hope that he and I will always be… this way…_"

The words slowly faded out with the steady melodic tune that Beth was effortlessly creating with the piano keys. When silence took over once again, she placed her hands in her lap and turned around on the small bench to face Daryl. Her cheeks were flushed pink and there was a bashful smile on her face. His eyes met hers and she shrugged, quickly looking away from him and down at a loose thread on the sleeve of her cardigan.

"You wrote that?" He asked, an incredulous half-smile plastered to his face.

He silently wondered to himself if _this_ was the kind of stuff she was always spending her time writing in that tattered book she'd been carrying around since the prison – since _before_ the prison. Thank-you notes and journal entries and love songs… poetry about a world where life wasn't the equivalent to pain. Was this what it was like to get a peek inside Beth Greene's flower-and-sunlight-filled head?

_I still sing._

If so, he suddenly wanted infinite more peeks. He wanted a long and observant gaze, a complete and uninterrupted study. He wanted to crawl inside the depths of her mind and make a home for himself, away from all the darkness and death and ear-shattering _silence_ of reality. What kind of goddamn fool was he to have ever let her think that the music she put out into the world _didn't _fill his soul with renewed hope?

She nodded sheepishly. "Yeah – it's a work in progress."

"I like it," he growled, and his heart soared inside his chest when her eyes flicked up to meet his from behind thick eyelashes, lit up with pleasant surprise.

"Thanks," she smiled, glancing away again with slight embarrassment. "Didn't think it'd be your kinda music."

He shrugged. "'S not… But I'm startin' ta think you can make just about anything sound good."

The giggle that burst from Beth's mouth was just as melodic and satisfying as the song she'd been singing and the music she'd been playing. Daryl's heart fluttered all over again and he had to look down at his boots and chew on his thumbnail to hide the tinge of red that was quickly rushing up his neck.

_Daryl, snap out of it!_

Beth stood from the bench and began slowly crossing the parlor, approaching him in the doorway. "Yeah, well – I guess there ain't no jukebox so ya don't have much of a choice."

He chuckled and lowered his arms, stepping aside to make way while gesturing for her to join him. "Don't need one when I got _you_ around. 'S better'an any jukebox I ever heard."

She laughed softly along with him, reaching out and casually grasping his hand in hers as they began to walk together out into the hall and toward the kitchen. "You say that now, but you'll get sick a my singin' someday."

He scoffed and circled an arm around her lower back without much thought. "Guess we'll jus' have ta see about that one, Greene… Now how 'bout some breakfast? Don't try ta tell me you ate while I was sleepin', neither."

* * *

_It feels like forever since I last saw Maggie's face. I can barely remember what it felt like to hold Judith. I know it's only been a few months, but being on the road with Daryl has made it seem like a lot longer… in both good ways __and__ bad ways. He's taught me a lot, that's for sure._

_But sometimes, I start to think that __I__ might be teaching __him__ some things, too._

_I hurt my ankle while we were tracking. Damn hunter's traps. I should've seen it, but Daryl didn't make me feel stupid about it. Thankfully. He even gave me a piggyback ride when it hurt too much to walk… (Maybe I should twist my ankle more often!)_

_We found an empty funeral home. Well, we think it's empty. There's food, it's clean, there's no dust, and nobody has come back yet. I think Daryl wants to get out of here before anybody comes back. But I kinda think they might be nice people - maybe the kind of people who would want to let us stay?_

_I don't know. It sounds silly, but sometimes, settling down somewhere with Daryl doesn't seem like a half bad idea. He doesn't always like to talk, but I think we both appreciate peace and quiet where we can find it. He doesn't treat me like I'm helpless. Not anymore. And I think we've started to make a pretty good team over these last weeks. Plus, he saved me from the prison when everybody else left me behind._

_I'd never tell him this... but I kinda think I saved him in a way, too._

_And __if__ everybody else is gone, well… we're all each other's got left then. We're __family__ now. Right?_

_Whatever happens… I still have Daryl. I still have __hope__. -BG_

* * *

"Saw a bird's nest out in one a them trees by the graveyard - I oughta go snatch 'em up an' make us a _real _breakfast," Daryl said, faintly smirking as his eyes flicked up and watched Beth through his shagging hair.

She'd been gazing down intently at the spoon and jar of peanut butter in her hands but her face immediately morphed into a look of disgust at his statement and she stared at him incredulously across the table. "Daryl, _no_! They could be baby birds any day - an' what about when the mama comes back and finds 'em gone - "

"Relax, I was jus' kiddin'," he sniggered and shook his head, stopping her before she got carried away. "Knew you'd say somethin' like that - that's why I left 'em alone when I found 'em."

Beth's concerned and appalled expression immediately faded and she blushed, suppressing an obvious smile and rolling her eyes in exasperation. She looked back down to her jar of peanut butter and took another bite, then muttered, "Still - I can't believe you found a bird's nest while we were out there an' you didn't _show _me. You know I love baby animals."

Daryl chuckled softly, swallowing his bite of pickled pig's feet and leaning back in his chair to gaze across the table at Beth. "Yeah, I know - even the _unhatched _baby animals. You must not've been with me 'cause I'd've made sure to show ya."

The light feeling in his chest was becoming solid and heavy. One moment, he was watching the morning sun leak through the window and glint across Beth's sapphire eyes as her pink lips curled into a sheepish smile. And then something changed - something palpable yet indiscernible, both inside of him and all around him. A shadow crossed Beth's features and the glint in her eyes faltered. A crease formed in her brow and she stared back at him with confusion.

Somehow, he knew she had questions that he was incapable of answering.

"When were you out there without me?" Her soft voice hit his ears and reverberated down through his chest, settling like a dead weight at the pit of his stomach. A simple, innocent inquiry. A combination of words that wasn't supposed to make his blood run cold.

_Pay attention, Daryl._

The jar of pigs' feet in his hands might as well have been non-existent as Daryl's mouth went completely dry and he slowly began to wrack his memory. When _had _he been out there without her? Beth had been by his side… nearly _every _moment.

(_Nearly_? Why was he doubting his own memory?)

He blinked a few times and his gaze drifted down toward the linoleum floor, mind racing. His brow was furrowed and his eyes became unfocused as he concentrated harder and harder on remembering… _something_. What was he supposed to be remembering? A moment that never happened? Since when did his memory start failing him like this?

Then Beth's voice interrupted his troubled contemplation, "Maybe you could go check on the car again - it'd be a lot safer since it's light out now."

Daryl's self-awareness rushed back to him all at once and he lifted his head to meet Beth's eyes from across the table again. She offered him a small smile, occupying herself with eating spoonfuls of peanut butter while she patiently awaited a response. As if she was ignoring the awkward hitch in their conversation and the odd lapse in his memory.

_Snap out of it, Daryl!_

He quickly scooped another slippery pigs' foot into his mouth. It barely tasted like anything. His mind slowed and he nodded, watching Beth's smile widen at him from across the table. Her voice drifted over and covered him like a warm blanket, smothering the fear and self-doubt, gently easing his feet back down to earth - back down to stability and comfort. And sanity.

"If there's a map, maybe we can start makin' a plan or something," she suggested, big blue eyes looking down at the jar of peanut butter. Then they flicked up to gauge his reaction, quietly adding, "What d'you think?"

Daryl simply nodded again, grunting in agreement through a mouthful of pigs' feet.

There was no reason to disagree so he didn't. But something deep inside his gut wanted to say _no_.

* * *

Shortly after breakfast, Beth called Daryl's attention to one of the windows in the den. He'd been about to slip over to the front window in the entryway in order to peer out and check on the dog bait like he'd planned right after waking up. But her voice reached his ears before he could pass the stairs and, even though she didn't sound panicked in the slightest, he nearly sprinted through the house to reach her.

When he entered the den, he found Beth standing at the window in the opposite corner. She gave him a concerned look, lips pursed tightly as she pointed at something outside. He crossed the room in four long strides and looked out to where she was pointing.

"He must've wandered up while we were eating," she whispered, her breath hot on his shoulder as they peered out the window together.

Daryl grunted with displeasure, glaring through the glass at the Walker that was stumbling around aimlessly beside the house. It was missing an arm and most of its remaining hand but it seemed to have a keen sense of hearing - or smell - because it kept turning toward the house every few seconds, meandering around in an anxious circle. Endlessly growling and groaning. It was only a matter of time before the damned thing would start clawing at the siding and attracting every other geek within a mile's radius.

"Mighta tore down the traps - or maybe it found a gap somewhere," Daryl mumbled, barely loud enough for Beth to hear him. He watched the creature stumble around and lose its footing, falling over clumsily and struggling to stand back up. "I'll go put it down - then I'll do some maintenance on the ol' alarm system. You stay here. Won't take long."

Her voice rose argumentatively, "Daryl - "

He turned and faced her, less than a foot of distance between them, and reached out to gently take her hand in his. He squeezed it reassuringly and halted her argument, "Keep an eye on me through the window, you'll be able ta see me the whole time. Jus' stay in here an' stay _quiet_, ain't no need fer you ta be out there."

He watched the words fall away from her parted lips and an annoyed sigh escaped instead. But she seemed to understand his heightened sense of protectiveness, or maybe she was just willing to tolerate it for the time being. Either way, a couple of seconds later, she was shrugging and squeezing his hand back.

"Fine. Just be _careful_," she whispered, bright pools of blue staring up at him, echoing her spoken sentiment with a silent intensity.

Daryl grabbed his crossbow before slipping out the back door and around to the side of the house. While he and Beth were eating breakfast, the sun fully breached the horizon and began its steady ascent into the morning sky. However, there was a wispy layer of gray hovering over everything, threatening rain but refusing to make promises. There were remnants of fog near the edge of the woods, quickly receding and leaving tiny droplets of water in its wake. Everything around the funeral home seemed to be drenched in hazy gray indifference.

When he looked up toward the roof, his observant gaze glanced over a pair of dark black crows perched atop one of the peaks on the roof. They seemed to be staring down at him, watching him with beady eyes. Silent and apathetic to the scene playing out around them.

_Pay attention, Daryl…_

He heard the Walker before he saw it. The creature was still meandering around in the same spot, oblivious to Daryl's presence.

He stalked over the dew-covered grass silently, crossbow clutched tightly in his hands and aimed directly at the center of the geek's soft skull. Knees bent and shoulders tensed, he fired his Horton with swift and silent precision and the bolt whizzed through the air, stopping only when it found purchase inside the Walker's brain.

The corpse dropped to the ground in a heap and silence reigned over the funeral home once more. Daryl lowered his weapon and glanced toward the window, spotting Beth watching him from behind the glass. Even from outside, he could see her bright grin and the way her eyes lit up when they met his. She gave him a goofy thumbs up, still grinning. He suppressed a chuckle and smirked back before giving a curt nod. _I got this._

A few moments later, with the feeling of Beth's eyes steadily following his every movement, Daryl had dragged the lifeless corpse away from the house and into the woods, laying it to rest amongst a thicket of bramble and undergrowth. Then he walked around the perimeter of the yard and the treeline, double-checking all the traps and alarms he'd tediously rigged around every exposed inch of the property. He glanced back at the house every so often to see Beth and ease his nerves, and as he moved out of her eyesight, she appeared behind each window that gave her the best view, slipping from room to room within the large mortuary just to ensure she could keep an eye on him. He smiled unabashedly to himself and continued moving slowly, careful to remain within her sight.

There were no gaps or damages on the one side, so he began double-checking the front yard, gradually wandering out closer to the road as he made his way toward the alarms near the graveyard. From a distance, it looked like the bait he'd set out was still there so he took his time in crossing the yard and investigating his makeshift alarm system. While he worked, he remained conscious of how much sound he was making, hoping that he could remain quiet enough so as not to spook away the dog - just in case it happened to be close by. Maybe he'd get lucky and spot the one-eyed mutt while checking the perimeter.

It wasn't until he got close enough to see past the large tree that had blocked his view that he realized he _definitely _wasn't getting lucky today. The tree was in just the right position that Daryl had been unable to see the tell-tale evidence of a brutal scene that lay in the grass a few feet away from the bait. As he approached, he realized the bait wasn't untouched - but it hadn't been finished either.

Daryl's stomach churned and his heart thumped at a sickening speed as he froze in place and stared down at the carnage before him. _Fuck. She was right - I shoulda left the damn thing alone._

There was blood and entrails scattered about, mixed amongst clumps of dirty white fur. A dog-shaped heap lay in the grass, red-soaked and ravaged, nearly unrecognizable. Gutted. Eaten alive before it could get more than a few steps away. It was still fresh, barely beginning to attract insects.

He shuddered and looked away, squeezing his eyes shut for a few long seconds as he forced the image from his head. When he reopened them, he quickly walked away, focusing on the traps and alarms around the perimeter instead. Swallowing back the bile that threatened to rise in his throat. Resisting the urge to turn his head and glance back at the house for fear that Beth was _still _watching.

His jaw clenched, teeth gritting together as he hoped against hope that she couldn't see what was left of that stupid dog from whatever window she was looking through.

Nearly every inch of the treeline and the vulnerable areas around the house appeared to be just as secure, or at least _prepared_, as Daryl had intended. There was nothing - and _no one_ \- sneaking through and getting close to him and Beth anytime soon. However, the Walker that had stumbled its way out of the woods and all the way through the graveyard to the other side of the house during breakfast _did _find a very small gap in Daryl's meticulous work. Small, but enough to have slipped through undetected.

He shouldered his crossbow and knelt down on the damp grass, carefully working to stretch out his shoddy little alarm system and fill the gap. He grunted and grumbled to himself quietly, growing more and more impatient and anxious to return to the house. To return to Beth. His fingers fumbled and he struggled to slow himself and focus on the trap, to stifle his aggravation.

But if he had to untangle one more _goddamned knot_…

"Daryl!"

Beth's voice made him jump and he immediately dropped everything in his hands to spin around and look in the direction the sound had come from. His heart was in his throat and he leapt to his feet only to find himself face-to-face with a Walker, less than an arm's reach away. _Where the hell - _

He barely had time to comprehend the situation before his instincts kicked in and he was blindly unsheathing Beth's knife from his belt, reaching one arm out to grab a fistful of tattered shirt fabric and rearing his other arm back before striking forward and driving the blade deep into the top of the creature's mushy head with a strained grunt. The blood-and-soil-covered dead hands reaching out toward him went still and fell limply to the corpse's sides, cold fingertips barely grazing the front of Daryl's vest.

He yanked the knife free and shoved the lifeless body away from him, letting it drop to the ground in a crumpled heap. When he lifted his eyes, heart racing and breath coming in stuttered gasps, he saw Beth in the distance. Staring at him from where she'd stopped mid-sprint halfway between the house and the edge of the graveyard. She was all wide, terrified blue eyes, trembling limbs and flushed skin.

But when his piercing gaze met hers, he could see every tensed muscle relaxing at once as her chest heaved with a visible sigh of relief.

Daryl reflexively glanced around once more, reassuring himself that there were no more oddly-quiet geeks stalking about nearby. Then he began taking long, purposeful strides across the grass, narrowed eyes fixed on Beth as he approached.

"The hell you doin' out here? I told ya t'stay _inside_," he growled.

Beth's brow creased faintly and she responded, "I couldn't _see you_ from inside - I came out ta see where you were. You _said _I could keep an eye on you the wholetime. And it's a good thing I was, you didn't even _hear _that Walker comin' up behind you."

As he watched the familiar spark of defiance and vindication come to life in Beth's eyes, his anger quickly began to dissipate. But he grasped at it desperately, the only self-defense he was capable of utilizing in the moment. He couldn't let her see how utterly _stupid _he felt right now.

Where had his head been and how had he allowed himself to become so unaware of his surroundings during a moment of vulnerability like that? Had he let himself grow careless or had that Walker just been _really _goddamn quiet? If he couldn't even watch his own back, how could he expect himself to watch Beth's?

He exhaled loudly in disgruntlement, nostrils flaring, and snapped back, "I _would've_, I don't need you comin' out here - _no goddamn weapon_ on ya, _no _way ta defend yerself - an' _screamin' _across the yard fer every shithead cop or geek within a _mile _ta hear…!"

Beth pursed her lips tightly and lifted her eyebrows, and the way she glared up at him, Daryl was almost positive she could see right through his facade of anger and frustration.

"Yer the only one _yellin' _right now," she said flatly.

He huffed with exasperation but before he could retaliate, she was looking down pointedly toward her waistband and briefly lifting the hem of her cardigan to reveal the shiny black metal of an all-too-familiar gun tucked into her jeans. Daryl glanced down and caught a glimpse just before she pulled her shirt back down and met his gaze once again.

"I wouldn't've come out here _empty-handed_," she said, the sharp edge in her voice gradually softening. "And those 'shithead cops' are _dead _\- we killed 'em. This was one of _their _guns…"

He bit back a spiteful retort. _She_ had killed them. She'd protected _herself_ when he was nowhere to be found. Was she trying to make him feel even _more _useless or something?

"Ain't nobody _coming _for us, Daryl - "

He cut her off, growling out through clenched teeth, "You don't _know _that."

Without missing a beat, Beth responded matter-of-factly, "And neither do _you_."

Daryl furrowed his brow and searched her wide eyes, struggling to match their intensity, squirming beneath her confident gaze. She was seeing right through him and he could feel it. He could hear it in the tone of her voice, see it in the expression on her face.

"'S that even s'posed ta _mean_?" He snarled.

"That you don't _know _whether somebody's comin' or not. But you _do _know that the chances of more cops like those showing up are pretty damn _slim _\- and whether somebody else comes or not, there's still Walkers and-and starvation, infection and…"

Her voice momentarily trailed off and he watched a hundred different unspoken fears flicker across her eyes, leaving a heavy shadow of dread embedded within her features.

He chewed on the inside of his cheek and swallowed back a thick knot of guilt, empathizing with her silent 'what if's all too easily.

_Don't you feel __**anything**__?_

She continued with squared shoulders and renewed conviction, "I can't just sit inside that house while you go out riskin' yer _life_. I know what happened was _scary_, but - but we can't _hide _from it. You can't just tuck me away like everythin' else... If I can't help you, then what the hell am I _here _for?"

Daryl's stomach plummeted down to his feet, right along with his heart, and he knew it was clear on his face. Her words rang in his ears and made his chest ache with an indescribable emptiness. He was torn - part of him wanted to argue, to question her nonsensical statements and retaliate with questions of his own. But the other part of him was agreeing with her, absorbing and understanding everything she meant. Despite the fact that it was a truth so harsh it seared his skin.

Yet he had absolutely no idea _why_. What the hell was he so afraid of, anyway? He'd never been afraid before. Not like this. Not before Beth.

_And now God forbid you ever let anybody get too __**close**__!_

He stared down at her blankly, searching the depths of the cerulean pools he was gazing into for answers. For reassurance. But all he found was more fuel for the blaze of anger crackling inside him; the only crutch he had left to lean on. The only emotion that made any damn _sense_ to him right now.

"Don't _need _yer help. Don't need _no_body. An' I never _said _you couldn't leave." He slashed his arm through the air dismissively. "You wanna go - _**go**_. Whenever you want. I ain't gonna stop ya."

He regretted every word as soon as it left his mouth.

To Daryl's relief, Beth didn't hesitate for so much as a second before quipping back, "You _know _that's not what I meant. Don't put on that _bullshit_ act with_ me_,Daryl Dixon…"

She'd lifted up onto her toes while she spoke, leaning in closer to him, invading his personal space with stubborn persistence. He knew she wasn't _trying _to, but he couldn't help feeling a little intimidated. Not by her attitude but by her _confidence_. By the vindication that burned bright and hot in her eyes. By the sharpness in her tone when she called him out on his childish behavior.

This girl - this _woman _\- was a towering mountain of courage trapped inside a five-foot-nothing body. And what was he? Nothing more than a scared and broken little boy parading around in the costume of a ruthless, unbreakable survivor.

_I ain't afraid of __**nothin**__'._

Beth Greene had a knack for peeling back all of Daryl's protective outer layers and this time, it left him feeling bare and exposed outside the funeral home. Staring down at the embodiment of his own shortcomings and desperately attempting to hide behind the tall wall he'd built, the wall that had kept him relatively safe for so many years. There was no more hiding, though; she'd seen him and recognized him. And he could tell she wasn't going to allow him to retreat. Not anymore.

"What're you tryin' ta get at, girl? _Huh_?" His voice began to rise and he struggled to stifle it, attempting to bite back his mounting anger and failing miserably. "You need me ta tell ya I _care _about you? Is that it? You want me ta tell ya that almost losin' you scared the ever-livin' _shit _outta me? _That _what you wanna hear?!"

His hands were trembling now, clenched into fists at his sides, an unfamiliar rage washing through him as the words poured from his mouth. "You wanna know that I thought I was gonna find you _**dead**_? You really need _me _ta tell _you _that the very fuckin' _idea _of somethin' happening to you when yer the _only_ one I got left makes me wanna put a _**bullet **_through my own _goddamn _brain - makes me wanna throw myself off a fuckin' _cliff_?!"

He watched her brow slowly knit together as she stared up at him, mouth falling into a frown and eyes searching his, studying his expression, allowing him to finally express all the pent-up frustration inside his head. But she didn't flinch or back down for even a split-second.

And instead of responding with petulance like he was expecting, her eyes became watery - which was confusing, because Daryl couldn't tell if she was about to cry or if she just had really dry eyes all of a sudden. But she blinked the pooling tears quickly away and a look of satisfaction formed on her face. And then her frown slowly turned into a weak smile, leaving him even more confused.

"Yes," she said, her voice hoarse and cracking at first. Then he watched as she swallowed and blinked again.

Her voice came out softer but stronger and her intense gaze didn't waiver from his as she finished simply, "I didn't _need _you to tell me - but it's a start."

Daryl's arm's hung limp and numb at his sides, every ounce of aggravation quickly fleeing his body as her eyes swept over him, staring up into his with mirrored vulnerability. So sure, so _satisfied_. A satisfaction he couldn't quite understand.

He could feel all his defenses sloughing away like old scabs, every muscle in his body shedding the heavy rusted armor that it could no longer support. Beth was staring through him like a foggy window that was just beginning to clear. And he had no desire to stop her this time. What was the point? She already knew how weak he was. She'd heard his unspoken words that night at the table before they'd been interrupted. And now he'd admitted it to her out loud, so there was no doubt left.

And there was a spark of something that he could barely recognize in her thoughtful gaze... _hope_. Beth was the only person who'd ever looked at him like that. It both baffled and terrified him to see that look staring up at him in this moment. Especially when he felt so stripped-bare before her.

He was completely unprotected, standing inches away from her, returning her intense stare with one of his own. His lips were parted, jaw slack as he searched for the ability to form a sentence. But he was petrified.

And then Beth was suddenly closing the distance between them, stepping forward and leaning in. He could barely feel her warm hands slipping into his, grasping gently and suredly at his palms. In the same fluid motion, she perched up on tiptoes and leaned up toward his face.

He was barely comprehending what was going on as everything around him seemed to slow - he watched her eyelids slowly flutter closed and his reflexively did the same, then he felt her warmth encompassing him, pressing softly against his chest. Her sweet scent filled his nostrils and he felt her small hands grasped in his and then her satin lips pressing against his mouth. Quickly followed by a sensation that was like his breath had been snatched right out of his throat.

Daryl could've sworn the entire world dropped away around them, just for a couple of euphoric seconds.

He was still frozen, unmoving, unable to react for what seemed like an impossibly long moment. And then he reacted with the only motion that felt appropriate, the only thing his body could manage to coordinate amidst the chaos in his brain. His pulse rabbitted and electricity fired throughout all his limbs, but he could feel himself tentatively leaning into the kiss - into _Beth_. Allowing himself to fall apart before her, melting against her lips and scrabbling for solid purchase amongst an unstable world.

Finding it within her mouth. With her weight against his chest and her hands in his. With the tip of her nose grazing his and the warmth of her lips soaking through his entire being.

And when she barely pulled away and Daryl lifted his eyelids, he felt hot tears pricking the corners of his eyes. He forcefully blinked them away and looked down to find the same gaze as before staring up at him - maybe slightly more satisfied this time. But it was still _Beth_, self-assured and unwavering.

Hopeful.

His chapped lips tingled and his heart thumped at an unprecedented pace. Yet the fear was still there, rushing through his veins like the heat that was creeping up his neck and into his face.

_Daryl, please try to snap out of it..._

He still didn't understand how she could be so brave when they had so _much _left to lose.

* * *

The haze remained, like a translucent layer of dust that had settled over everything. It was barely there but ever-present in Daryl's peripherals, flickering and faintly skipping across everything in front of him. Everything except Beth - she was very real, very solid, and almost _glowing_. Or maybe he was imagining that part. Maybe she just seemed brighter than everything else because of his own jumbled perceptions. He couldn't quite decide.

She was sitting across from him in the kitchen again but she wasn't eating. Neither was he. There was a half-empty bottle of diet soda sitting on the table between them but Daryl was too busy biting the inside of his cheek until he could taste copper on his tongue. Beth's blue eyes were boring into him. He still couldn't shake the feeling of being exposed and shame had crept up on him as soon as they'd stepped back inside the quiet house.

After a long few moments of silence, during which Daryl had tried to gaze off at everything _except _Beth - mostly because he couldn't stop glancing at her lips and thinking about how soft they'd actually felt against his own - she broke through his thoughts as if she were reading his mind. More likely, he knew, she was reading his face and the all-too-familiar guilt clouding his eyes.

"You know what I think woulda been stupid?"

Her voice hit his ears and sent waves of tension rolling down his back. He blinked and returned her thoughtful stare, trying hard to focus on her shining blue eyes rather than the streak of sunshine that had pierced through the window and illuminated her blonde hair like a halo around her head.

"If you'd have never said it… _that _would've been pretty stupid. What if we hadn't gotten all this time? What if - well, what if you had ta keep it to _yourself _forever? Just because you never had the courage to say it out loud… to tell somebody how much they mean to you."

"Not somebody - _you_."

His low grumble of a voice escaped on its own will and he quickly glanced away as the back of his neck grew hot.

_You're gonna miss me so bad when I'm gone, Daryl Dixon._

Her tone softened and she said, "It doesn't make you weak to accept things for how they are… For _what _they are."

A knot formed in his throat and he looked down, blinking back a sudden rush of tears that had caught him off-guard. He quickly cleared his throat and scratched at the scruff on his jaw, then he grunted and pushed himself up out of the chair. He crossed the small kitchen, still avoiding Beth's eyes, and stopped in front of the sink to gaze out the window.

The sky was a bluish gray, clouds and clear sky blending together and becoming indistinguishable from one another. The fog had receded and dissipated when morning faded into afternoon but the hazy film that hovered over everything was still there. He rubbed at his eyes a few times, beginning to wonder if his vision was starting to go out on him. Maybe his hearing was, too, and that's why he hadn't heard the Walker approaching from behind earlier…

Except he knew that wasn't right. And everything else looked… _normal_. As normal as this shithole of a world could appear anymore. There were more crows in the distance, perched along the branch of a bare tree near the kitchen window. He counted three birds with glossy black feathers before two of them suddenly outstretched their wings and leapt from the branch, taking flight and disappearing overhead. The remaining crow didn't budge and when Daryl squinted, he could've sworn its beady little eyes were focused on him.

_Pay attention, Daryl._

Just as it opened its dark beak to let out a loud _caw_, Beth spoke up from behind him, where she was still sitting quietly at the table.

"Daryl."

He spun around at the sound of her voice to find a tepid look in her eyes.

"We gotta make a decision…"

He gazed back at her expectantly, silently urging her to explain. He tried to ignore the tendrils of anxiety that were beginning to constrict his lungs.

"We gotta figure out whether we're gonna stay here and _try _t'keep out the rest of the world or… pack up and... move on." The brightness in her eyes flickered and she glanced away, looking down at her hands.

Daryl chewed on his thumbnail nervously and inhaled a deep breath through his nose, willing his racing heart to slow. But the kitchen was quickly becoming stifling and he was yearning for the crisp cold air outside.

_We might as well __**do**__ something!_

He grunted and left the kitchen without another word, grabbing his crossbow and throwing it over his back before heading straight for the small table in the entryway, where he stopped and snatched up Beth's dirty bag, leaving the gun lying where it was. At some point, she had begun stashing cans of food in the bag in preparation of a quick escape, and he heard them clinking around inside as he threw the bag over his shoulder and strode out the front door. He shut the door tightly behind him.

Fresh autumn air began to fill his lungs and clear his head and he crossed the yard in no time, glancing back over his shoulder once he'd reached the road. Beth hadn't followed him out and the front door was still closed, though he could faintly see her face in the front window.

Watching him. Always watching him.

He half-jogged across the road and into the trees, slowing as he navigated thick undergrowth and fallen branches. The car was much easier to see in the daylight and the white cross painted on the back window seemed to glare at him from beneath the cover of leaves. His feet halted and his legs froze, tensing and refusing to carry his weight any farther.

Daryl stared at the shadowy back window of the old car, breath hitching in his chest and fingers tightening around the strap of the bag slung over his shoulder. His mind suddenly went blank and he struggled to recall what his plan had been - what his purpose for being here was.

Beth had wanted him to do something… or had _he _wanted to do it? Why hadn't he brought her with him?

There was an itch forming, like an invisible hand tugging at the hem of his shirt, urging him to keep stepping forward. But his instincts were telling him the exact opposite. His gut ached with nauseating fear and dread and every nerve beneath his skin was screaming at him to _turn around_.

A cold sweat formed on the back of his neck and the air turned dry around him. Flashes of blood-soaked blonde hair surfaced in his mind and sent an icy chill through his bones. He gasped in sharply then shut his eyes tightly and turned around. When he opened them, he stared down intently at the ground and his moving feet.

He watched his own legs carry him back across the road, through the yard, over the dying grass. He couldn't hear anything over the loud squawking of crows filling his ears. He didn't raise his head or take a full breath until his hand was on the knob of the front door. And when he stepped inside, the warm air hit his face and shocked him back to reality, Beth's familiar scent demanding his attention and reflexively calming him. Everything was quiet again.

_Snap out of it, Daryl._

She was standing in the doorway to his left, waiting expectantly. He dropped the bag down onto the table with a soft _clunk_, returning her gaze hesitantly.

"That dog… It's gone," she said simply. Her voice was quiet, barely more than a whisper cracking through the silence that pulsated in Daryl's ears.

It wasn't a question but a statement. She knew. And she wasn't surprised.

He dreaded the sadness and disappointment that would surely appear on her face. But it never did.

"Yeah," he responded, his throat dry and hoarse. "It was only a matter a time."

He didn't know what else to say.

Her eyes flicked downward, staring blankly at the wood floor as his heart _thump-thump-thumped _in his ears. Then she looked back up at him and he watched with astonishment as her mouth curved into a tentative smile.

"Ain't so bad," she muttered, eyelashes fluttering and damn near knocking him completely off-balance. "All dogs go to heaven - 'least, that's what my Daddy used ta say."

_Not __**all**__, _Daryl thought. _Not me._


	4. day two: moonlight

**day two: moonlight**

The afternoon flashed by in a complacent fog, skipping in a blur of colors between long and contemplative shared looks with Beth and the knife he was sharpening in his hands. Somewhere in there, he'd set out both of the guns and taken them apart only to find them in near pristine condition. He reassembled them and took his time, hands itching to be doing something productive while his head raged and stormed like a hurricane at sea.

The white cross on the back window of the car glared menacingly from the dark depths of his memory, rising to the surface every few minutes and refusing to give him peace. And there was a constant tugging at his insides, like there was something he _needed_ to do - _should_ be doing - but he couldn't figure out what it was. The more he thought about it, the tighter his chest felt.

"I'm gettin' hungry. Let's go hunting." Beth's hand was suddenly on his arm, gently tugging at the sleeve of his shirt.

He looked up to find her smiling down at him, an eager and excited expression on her face. Had she been watching him again? Reading his face, peering into his head? It didn't matter. He wanted to escape the stale air of the house again - he _needed _to busy his hands and his mind with something else before he started going stir crazy. And he and Beth would need to eat again, anyway. They'd already eaten too much of their stash. Or _he _had, because he barely ever saw _her _eating. All the more reason to hunt again and assure himself she was getting some nutrition.

The sun stayed hidden behind endless miles of gray clouds, leaving a surreal glaze clinging to the damp air in the woods. Daryl stepped quietly over dead leaves and broken twigs but Beth moved even quieter, barely leaving a trace of her presence as they trekked deeper into the trees. She kept close to his side the entire time, big blue eyes watching his every movement with fascination.

His nerves stopped bouncing around beneath his skin for the first time all day. She pressed close to his side and urged him to teach her more, to help her track and identify their prey. Momentarily, he thought she might've been purposely trying to distract him, trying to pull him from the depths of his own troubling thoughts the only way she knew how. It didn't take long for him to drift away from the unease, for his muscles to relax and his lungs to fill with fresh air.

_Aren't you paying attention yet, Daryl?_

His head cleared and all he could focus on was Beth and the trail before them, the weight of his crossbow in her hands and the precise placement of her dainty fingers and the smell of her hair so close to his face. The peace and quiet that surrounded them and the relative sense of safety that seemed to encompass them in a large bubble. The even more relative sense of hope. Like whatever came next would be _okay_, and maybe they weren't in such imminent danger - not as long as they had each other.

Yeah, he could believe it.

_Maybe you gotta keep on remindin' me sometimes._

When the early evening sun began to slice through the trees around them, light lowering quicker and quicker with each passing moment, it meant that it was time for them to head back inside for the night. They'd been lucky and hadn't encountered any of the dead all afternoon but he was always weary of pushing that luck. He'd allowed himself to drift away with her momentarily, lost in their own world of tracking and hunting and properly firing the Horton. Even despite the dull ache at the back of his head that kept tugging him toward something he couldn't describe - a task he'd somehow failed to complete yet couldn't remember.

No, the sense of imminent danger hadn't _really_ left. No matter how much Beth's presence tried to push it away, no matter how insistent she was that they were in the clear. No matter how consistently she found the silver lining to every dark cloud.

He attributed the annoying ache in his head to hunger and walked a little faster once the house came within view, a couple of fat squirrel carcasses hanging from the stringer slung over his shoulder. Beth strode along beside him, a satisfied smile on her face and her ponytail bouncing with each lively step. It was like her ankle had never even been injured. The scab was still visible behind her ear from the bullet that had grazed her skin, but he tried not to look at _that_ whenever he stole glimpses of her in his peripherals. There was no gray haze over her unlike everything else, and he could feel her presence next to him like a comforting warmth. (Or more like a compass.)

Then she stopped. It was sudden and he hadn't realized that she'd halted until he got a few steps ahead and noticed her absence. He quickly paused and turned back to find her frozen in place, her gaze set on something in the distance to their left. Her mouth had fallen into a dissatisfied frown and there was a storm of discontent brewing in her eyes. He could see her worrying her lower lip, brow slowly knitting together as though she were struggling with a silent inner conflict.

_I don't cry anymore, Daryl._

He didn't need to ask what was wrong because as soon as he turned his head and followed her line of sight, toward the tree in the front yard and the small carcass that still lay in the grass beside it, he knew what she was thinking about. The sad scene was just out of sight but they both knew it was still there. And he knew what she wanted to say.

He looked over at her again. "I'll bury 'im. You wanna have a funeral?"

Beth blinked and flicked her gaze over to settle on Daryl, the faint sense of distraught quickly fading away. She furrowed her brow and shook her head, stepping forward to stand beside him once more with slumped shoulders.

"'S not gonna bring him back."

"Didn't say it would."

"It doesn't matter," she mumbled listlessly.

His heart skipped. "Yes it does."

_It __**does**__ matter._

He licked his lips, mouth suddenly going dry, voice coming out hoarse. "Don't say that. It _does_."

She studied his face for a long second before the light flickered back to life in her eyes, and then a weak half-smile was tugging the corner of her mouth upward.

She glanced toward the tree again and nodded. "Yeah. We should lay him to rest."

_Daryl, you've gotta snap out of it already._

He reached his hand out for her to take and she did so eagerly, intertwining their fingers. Then he began leading her across the grass and toward the back door of the house.

"We can get it done 'fore it's too dark if we start now," he said. "I saw a shovel in the basement, I'll grab it."

She followed him quietly and squeezed his hand, her warmth spreading up his arm and filling his sternum. He wondered if _this_ was what he'd been forgetting to do all day.

* * *

He was barely present when he ventured down to the basement and retrieved the shovel. It was almost like the night that the cops had shown up - how he could only vaguely remember the clean-up process afterwards and struggling to clear the bottom-most floor of the house of the lifeless corpses he'd left behind.

The Walkers that had interrupted him and Beth, coming between them and forcing them to separate - forcing her to risk her life out in the road all alone while he fought to reach her. The comfort he'd taken in the sound of her voice as he worked routinely, mechanically disposing of corpse after corpse.

Dragging bodies. Carrying bodies. The heavy, motionless weight in his arms. The warm, thick blood on his hands.

It played back in his memory like a scratched CD and he pushed it away as best he could, focusing on the task at hand, allowing the sweet lilt of Beth's voice to fill his ears and keep him anchored to the earth. She didn't follow him downstairs but she was there waiting for him when he came back up, and she trailed after him when he led the way out the front door. He paused at the small table, where her bag sat atop the gun that had been tucked inside her waistband just a few hours ago. But he bit down on his bottom lip and chose not to say anything, opening the door and stepping carefully out onto the porch instead.

They walked silently, trekking across the lawn like they were hunting in the woods again, eyes peeled and ears perked for signs of geeks. But it seemed that the undead had already gotten their fill of fresh dog meat and moved on from the quiet yard of the house. Daryl stopped near the tree and purposely stood between Beth and the grisly remains of the fluffy white carcass, turning and meeting her curious gaze. She looked up at him expectantly and he nodded toward the house.

"Might wanna grab somethin' ta wrap him up in. 'S pretty messy," he said quietly.

She paused and glanced behind her, then her eyes widened and she suggested, "I got a tarp in the bag - we could use that."

He hesitated. "We're gonna need that tarp out on the road."

She shook her head and he caught her eyes looking past him, over his shoulder, and he wondered what she was looking at - or looking _for_. But then she was speaking again, staring directly at him, not bothering to whisper. As though she wanted to make sure he heard her _clearly_.

"There's another tarp in the trunk of the car."

He furrowed his brow and his shoulders stiffened. "You sure?"

She nodded confidently. "Positive."

A cold breeze blew across the back of his neck although every tree around him remained still and undisturbed. A coldness only _he_ could feel. The sun was inching closer and closer to the horizon from behind a haze of gray clouds. A pair of crows let out an ear-stinging _caw _from somewhere nearby.

"Alrigh'. Go grab it - help me wrap 'im up."

She flashed a small tight-lipped smile and turned around, quickly heading back across the lawn and toward the front door. He watched her the whole way, counting her steps from him to the porch, refusing to tear his gaze away until she was slipping inside and briefly disappearing behind the door.

He knew it was only a few seconds that she was out of his sight, maybe a minute at the most, but it felt like _hours_ that he was standing out by the tree, waiting for her with a shovel grasped tightly in his hand. A long, drawn out _"ca-aw!" _came from behind him and he reflexively turned, looking toward the darkened woods across the road.

_Just pay attention, Daryl!_

Something foreboding and persistent was tugging at his insides again, urging him forward. His stomach turned and nausea bubbled to life like molten lava. He could taste acid on his tongue. His feet felt like they were glued to the ground. One of the branches across the road shook and a bird-shaped shadow took flight, disappearing into the sky above.

Then he blinked and everything went silent for half of a heartbeat. He turned back around and angrily drove the tip of the spade into the hard ground beneath him.

And he began to dig.

* * *

To his surprise - and relief - Beth was mostly unfazed by the ravaged carcass of the one-eyed apocalypse pup. Daryl volunteered to gather the remains the best he could into the tarp but she insisted on doing it while he dug an appropriately sized grave for their mutual acquaintance in order to save time and light. And he watched her from the corner of his eye the whole time as she meticulously collected every fluffy white remnant and wrapped it into a dog-shaped form with the tarp.

While he dug into the earth and struggled against the hardened soil, she hummed a melancholy tune that he recognized but couldn't name. And as they lay the cold bundle into the even colder cradle of dirt, her eyes flicked up and met Daryl's and she gave him a sad smile.

"My mama used ta tell me an' Maggie about a Rainbow Bridge," she said softly. "It's where all our pets go after they die."

He huffed out a breath, looking away from her awkwardly and gripping the shovel's handle tighter. He wasn't sure why but he found himself fighting back tears.

"It's okay - he's happy now," Beth said, her voice light and reassuring with optimism. "He's somewhere with all his friends, and he's got both eyes again. He's not scared anymore."

Daryl swallowed hard and gave a curt nod. As soon as she stepped back from the small grave, he began shoveling the dirt back into the hole, tossing it across the tarp-covered heap until he could no longer distinguish between dog and earth.

_Don't you think that's beautiful...?_

Once the ground had completely swallowed up the small corpse and Daryl had patted down the disturbed dirt with the back of his shovel until it was nothing more than a patch of brown amongst a field of yellow-green, Beth found a heavy square-shaped rock and settled it at the head of the little grave. Then they stood at either side with their hands clasped together before them, heads lowered and lips tightly pursed. They took a moment of silence and he thought she was going to say something nice or give some sort of dog eulogy. But it was his own voice that broke the silence.

"He was a good dog. We'll always remember 'im."

He looked up and saw Beth's eyes on him, tears pooling as a small smile curled her lips upwards.

"We'll see him again someday," she whispered.

But he could barely hear her over the cold burst of wind that suddenly picked up around them.

_Please snap out of it, Daryl._

* * *

He wasn't sure why he'd ventured across the road and towards the ominous shadow of trees. Once again, his mind went blank and he questioned what had sent him in this particular direction, what his goal had been. Did Beth send him out here? Was there something he still needed to _do_?

The sun was gone and the fog was returning, night looming heavy all around him. He knew he should be back at the house, out on the porch skinning their kills and preparing their dinner. He should be washing the dried dog blood and dark soil from his hands. But he couldn't - not yet.

He'd been about to but Beth had stopped him at the porch by saying _something_. And, for the _life_ of him, he couldn't recall what it was. Something that pertained to their current situation? To their dinner? To their _safety_? He didn't know. His feet slowed and he wracked his brain repeatedly, willing the answer to fall upon him like dying leaves drifting from the trees that engulfed him. But the woods were disappointingly silent.

The glaring white cross came into view and he froze in place. His breath hitched in his throat and a tremble ran through his limbs.

He wanted to turn and walk away. But his legs were moving on their own accord and the car was coming closer, growing clearer and clearer with every step he unwillingly took. His hands were shaking with a sensation he could only describe as _terror_, and then he slowly exhaled.

His feet stopped. The silence swallowed him up once more.

_Four more steps._ That was all it took and he'd be able to reach out and touch the cold metal of the trunk.

Then the silence was broken. The unmistakable stench of _death_ suddenly overwhelmed him. The hairs on the back of his neck stood on end and he spun around, eyes scanning the darkness and the faint silhouettes of countless trees, dark blobs of shrubbery and undergrowth. He spotted the movement to his left and dove forward, reaching down and unsheathing his knife in the same motion.

_You're still not paying attention, Daryl._

The blade sunk deep into the Walker's decaying skull and the corpse fell away from him, disappearing into the darkness beneath him. He huffed out a frustrated breath and shoved his knife back into its sheath, blood dripping cold and sticky down his hand.

He didn't bother turning back toward the car. His feet carried him out of the woods and to the road, barely slowing as he navigated the traps and crossed the yard. And when he finally glanced back from the front porch of the mortuary, his eyes gravitated straight to the shadowy mass of trees that concealed the car.

It remained undisturbed but even looking back, he couldn't remember _what_ had led him out there again.

* * *

Fog gathered thick and heavy over everything around the house. Daryl sat out on the back porch and cleaned their kills, thinking of that damned one-eyed dog the entire time. Beth leaned against a support beam a few feet away and gazed up thoughtfully at the stars and wisps of passing clouds. He never forgot that she was there anymore, not when the quiet sounds of her steady breathing and occasional humming stilled the trembling in his hands and slowed his erratic heartbeat. But he was still able to drift away, reassured by her proximity and becoming lost in his own head to the point that he was going through motions that didn't even feel intentional anymore.

Her voice yanked him back to the present, soft and wistful.

"What else do you need?"

He paused and raised his head, gazing over at her from beneath shagging dark hair. "What?"

He wasn't sure he'd heard her correctly.

A shadow crossed her features and he saw a flicker in her blue eyes. But just as quickly as it had come, it was gone and he was almost certain he'd imagined it.

_Snap out of it, Daryl._

Her voice sounded different when she responded - clearer, more concise - and she smirked and tilted her head. "I _said_, how much d'you wanna eat? 'Cause I was thinkin' we could make the rest into jerky and then it'd last longer. For later on, when we can't hunt."

He nodded and tried not to let the confusion appear on his face. He wondered if his hearing was beginning to go out. Or if he was just going crazy. Maybe he was already getting senile.

Whatever it was, he needed to get his shit together. He might've lost everyone else, and he might even be losing his own _mind_… but he wasn't _about_ to lose Beth.

* * *

They sat at the table and ate fire-cooked game meat by candlelight, exchanging small smiles and content glances, speaking in hushed voices about everything and nothing at all. Talking for the sake of hearing one another's voice, to fill the quiet that constantly weighed down around them. Navigating their way through something that felt like it could be closure or just simple reassurance.

Beth was murmuring reflectively about the funeral and the dog they'd barely known, and the underlying sorrow in her tone made Daryl think that she was also thinking of her dad. He ached with the knowledge that he could never heal that particular wound for her, that he could never bury anything that would match up to everything she'd lost when The Governor had brought that katana down upon Hershel's neck with so much force.

_And he'd get really old. And it'd happen, but it'd be quiet._

Daryl liked to think that their peaceful moment out in the graveyard days before had been a sort of memorial for Hershel, a shared sentiment that had vibrated through their clasped hands for those fleeting minutes. But he knew it would never be enough.

_That's how unbelievably stupid I am._

Yet now, her tone was filled with hope. She sounded peaceful and he wanted to believe that she'd already figured it all out.

"I think that was nice - what you did. Even if it's just a dog. Somebody _loved_ him. And he deserved to be at peace."

Daryl nodded, staring down at his half-eaten pile of squirrel meat wordlessly.

_Pay attention, Daryl._

"I know I get on yer nerves sometimes, but… I think you're the best friend I've ever had."

His eyes flicked up and met her tentative gaze, his jaw clenching. His heart thumped hard and he wanted to look back down at his plate but he couldn't. He was drowning in the pair of sparkling sapphire oceans that stared back at him so expectantly.

There was a beat. Then he replied without hesitation, "Ain't yer _best friend_."

Her smile began to falter but he swallowed past a growing knot in his throat and finished:

"We're _family_ now."

She grinned and his head spun at the sight of her smile reaching all the way up to her eyes. Her cheeks went pink and she looked down at the empty fork in her hand bashfully.

"If ya didn't get on my nerves, I'd prob'ly never learn _anything_, huh?" He mumbled, smirking and quickly looking down at his plate.

She chuckled softly and it echoed off the walls of the small kitchen, filling his ears and drowning out any other sound that could've possibly reached him.

"Nah. Probably not."

* * *

Beth's glowing smile led Daryl unquestionably through the dark house. She gently clasped his hand and he followed the warmth, the softness of her voice, the comfort of her weight. He built a small fire in the fireplace of the den while she squatted down beside him and helped, offering her own breath to stoke the growing flame. Then they sat against the front of the sofa, their boots resting nearby and the heat of a flickering blaze casting over them.

He couldn't resist reaching over and checking her healing wound, carefully pushing aside tendrils of blonde hair and leaning in close. She insisted that he didn't need to worry about it but tilted her head to the side and allowed him to inspect and fuss to his heart's content anyway. And, just as an added precaution, he gently grabbed her hands and stretched her arms out between them, pushing up her sleeves and searching for scratches or missed injuries. He knew it was mostly unnecessary but it would've bothered him if he hadn't checked.

She rolled her eyes and giggled, resting her head on his shoulder once he was done, and they relaxed against the front of the couch. His hand was resting on her knee and she slid her own hand up to intertwine their fingers atop her leg. He cleared his throat and willed his heart to slow its rapidly rising pace. But that was impossible when she was so warm and inviting next to him, pressed so close against his side. When it felt so natural and _normal_.

They sat in silence and stared at the flickering flame in the fireplace, the glow that it cast over the rug and their legs. His eyelids were beginning to droop and the exhaustion was settling in now that he was comfortable and relaxed. He opened his eyes wider and fought off the sleep that threatened to consume him, forming a list in his head of all the things that needed to be done, reminding himself that he needed to stay up and keep watch.

As if she could read his mind once again or feel his emotions through his sagging muscles against hers, she spoke quietly. But her voice was plenty loud enough to pull him from the blurred edge of consciousness and clear his head. His spine went rigid for a second and he absorbed everything she said.

"I wanna believe they're all still out there somewhere… Maggie, Rick, Michonne, Carl, Glenn, Carol, _Judith_… But - what if they ran into more a those cops? Or other people like that? What if they didn't _get_ as lucky as we did…?"

Daryl's brow furrowed and he felt Beth's grasp on his hand loosening. The doubt in her voice sent an inexplicable fear coursing through his veins. He sat up straighter, turning his head to look at her beside him. Her eyes were staring straight ahead, clouded and unfocused, slowly blinking. He could see her drifting off into that same abyss of loss and hopelessness that so often threatened to consume him.

She deserved _better_ than that, though.

"They're tough. Like you. They'd never let _anybody_ get 'em like that," he said, inexplicable confidence pouring from his lips. "Wasn't _luck_ anyhow. It was survival… We can all take care of ourselves. If we have to."

He watched her lips press tightly together as she stared unblinking at the fire. Then her long eyelashes fluttered downward and back up and she turned her head to meet his studious gaze. She was still _Beth_ but at the same time, she wasn't.

_Yeah, I'm happy - I'm just not blind._

There was still _hope_ burning bright and hot in her eyes but it was mixed with trepidation. And the downward curve of her mouth made his breath stutter. The uncertainty in her voice fell upon him like cold rain.

"Maybe… But we shouldn't _have_ to. _They_ shouldn't have to. Carl's just a kid, Judith's just a _baby_ \- Carol just wanted to be a mom, and Rick just wanted to be a dad. Lori wanted her family to be safe," she said.

A pause. Her voice softened. "That's what my daddy wanted, too."

Her sad blue eyes were searching his face for an answer that he knew he couldn't provide, searing into his skin with burning intensity.

A part of him agreed with her _more_ than whole-heartedly. That same part of him wanted to say, _Well, wish in one hand and shit in the other and see which one fills up first - this is the apocalypse, sweetheart. Nobody gets what they fucking want._

But he didn't _want_ to be that callous anymore. Not right now. Not with her. Not when he saw that she was still struggling with what she'd had to do in order to retain her _luck_, how it affected everything else that constantly haunted her - constantly haunted _them_. Not when he knew that kind of thing simply wasn't in her nature and it had only made the heavy weight all that much more difficult to carry on her back.

"Doin' what you have to usually ain't easy," he muttered. "Killin' somebody doesn't feel _good_ \- ain't _supposed_ to. Never will... But you do what you gotta, or else it's all for nothin'."

There was a beat. Then she whispered, "So… dyin' for somebody is a waste?"

He responded without thinking, "Nah. I'd die for a lotta people - Rick, Carl, Judith, Carol, _you_. 'S only a waste if it don't _mean_ nothin'."

_And these days, it __**always**__ means something_, he wanted to say.

But he wasn't entirely sure that was true anymore and he didn't want to lie to her.

She was silent, her gaze set on something a million miles away. His stomach flip-flopped and he blinked, briefly wondering if she could read his mind - if she could somehow hear his unspoken words.

Then he was sitting back against the couch again, resting his heavy eyelids, fighting the sleep that wanted to overtake him. His arms and back were sore and aching from digging into hard earth. He felt abnormally weak, fatigued as though he'd worked strenuously all day even though he hadn't.

It was only one grave. Why did he feel like he'd spent all day digging?

_Daryl, snap out of it!_

He heard a loud _crack_ from the fireplace and felt the warm weight beside him slowly recede. Her fingers untangled from his and when he opened his eyes and looked, she was a few feet away kneeling by the fire and gently placing more pieces of firewood atop the dwindling flames, bringing them back to life and brightening the glow that poured across the rug.

He watched her silently, trying to ignore the way his hand tingled and yearned to reach out and touch her, to pull her back to him. But her back had stiffened and her features were pulled down into a sad sort of contemplation. And her vast cerulean gaze was set on the blaze before her as she sat down and pulled her knees up to her chest, resting her chin atop her knees and continuing to stare forward thoughtfully.

He began to wonder if this was even _about_ the cops anymore. Then again, he remembered, it was like a pebble thrown into a quiet pond. The ripples moved outward, endlessly disturbing the surface. He would never understand just how far it went and maybe she wouldn't either. But she was certainly trying. And that was more than _he'd_ ever done.

Here she was again, forcing him to face all that shit he didn't even like to _think_ about. Forcing him to confront the demons that stalked quietly along in his wake and hovered menacingly over her head. Forcing him to look them in their ugly faces and tell them to fuck off and stay away. Forcing him to lock them up once and for all, to set them on their respective shelves and move as far forward as possible, to put them away forever.

_You have to. Or it kills you._

Except this time, it almost felt like a _test_. Like the hope she'd instilled within him was a long rope, stretching too far and too thin on her end, and he was the only one she could trust to reinforce it and pull her back in to safety. As though she were dangling at the edge of a dangerous cliff, reaching out desperately and grasping for him. He wanted to pull her back; he wanted nothing more than to find that place of safety again, of heightened senses and full chests and unfounded contentment. But was he even _capable_ of such a thing?

Beth certainly seemed to think so. And he'd like to think he'd proven her right so far.

Then her tentative voice filled his ears and he watched her lips barely move while she continued to stare into the fire. He could see that she was contemplating everything, both silently and aloud.

"You ever think that maybe… we were never _meant_ to survive this world? Maybe it was always meant ta change us. To burn away all the goodness left in people - even the ones who were _good_ before - and burn away all our humanity before it finally just… _consumes_ us. A big apocalyptic fire that swallows everything up till we're nothin' but _ashes_."

He bit down on his lower lip and stared at her, watching the glow flicker across her face. He still wanted to reach out and touch her but he resisted.

_Wouldn't kill you to have a little faith._

His voice rose up and out of his mouth before he could second-guess it, barely louder than the crackle of the fire before them.

"Nah. We ain't ashes."

He licked his lips and struggled not to tear his gaze away when she finally turned her head and looked back at him. There was a flash of curiosity in the blue pools that settled on him, urging him to convince her.

"Yeah, everythin's burned ta shit. An' it just keeps burnin'. But we're still here. We're still _good_. And we keep goin', no matter how hot it gets. The only way outta the fire is _through_ it," he continued, his throat growing hoarse. "You said it yerself: we gotta stay who we are."

Her lips slowly curled upward but she didn't look away from him. He couldn't drag his eyes away from her if he'd tried.

And when she spoke, her voice was lighter. Dare he say it but her tone was _hopeful_ again, reassured and almost confident.

"Yeah, we do... Don't we?"

He merely grunted in response but he knew that she understood.

_You gotta stay who you are, not who you were._

* * *

Everything skipped and jolted, suddenly and without warning. He wouldn't have noticed except that when he lifted his eyelids, the flames in the fireplace had dwindled down to smoldering embers and ashes and the moon was glowing iridescently through the windows.

Or maybe he'd drifted off to sleep. That didn't feel quite right though, because he'd done nothing more than close his eyes for a brief moment.

_Just pay attention, Daryl._

Yet Beth was no longer kneeling on the rug a few feet away, lost in thought; she was beside him again, leaning against his side, and she was warm and still. The house was so quiet that he could hear their synchronized breathing over the muffled hooting of owls outside.

When he turned his head, she lifted hers away from his shoulder and met his eyes. She gave him a small content smile and softly nudged her arm into his side in silent reassurance.

His brow began to knit together and he blinked, glancing around and trying to make sense of things. Had he _really_ allowed himself to fall asleep like that? Time kept slipping through his fingers like sand. And his head was so foggy.

Then again, it hadn't felt fully _clear_ for the last few days. Not since that moment at the table - over candlelight and pigs' feet - that had turned his entire world upside-down. Not since he'd accepted and admitted to the fact that he cared about Beth in a way that he still didn't quite understand.

"You must be so tired."

Her soft voice pulled him back to full consciousness and he looked over at her, their faces inches apart as her chin hovered over his shoulder. Their palms were clasped, fingers intertwined and resting atop her thigh. She squeezed his hand and the heat rushed through him, starting at his wrist and rapidly spreading upward to fill his entire chest. It suddenly felt like a hundred heavy anchors were tugging him downward, pulling him farther and farther down into the floor beneath him. Something inexplicable was urging him to let go and _give in_.

He grunted reflexively and wanted to disagree, to assure her that he was prepared to stay up and keep watch while she slept. But all he could do was nod weakly.

She smiled with an understanding that perplexed him and whispered, "It's okay to be tired, ya know."

He glanced at her pink lips, the ivory glow that painted her face in the dim moonlight, the crinkling of skin at the corners of her eyes as she gazed back at him. He could feel her hot breath on his chin and ghosting across his exposed throat.

"It's okay to be _weak_," she continued, her smile faltering. "It just means you've been strong fer too long… And you _have_."

He had no response. His lips were pursed tightly and he swallowed, unable to tear his eyes from her burning gaze. He could've sworn she was looking directly into his soul. And that scared him but he couldn't pull away. The desire to back away from this rocky edge that she always brought him to was no longer there.

He wanted to lunge forward, to leap far and fast off that edge, to plummet downward and submerge himself in the vast ocean of blue that stared up at him so intensely, so _assuredly_.

He wanted to _believe_ her.

The corners of her mouth curved upward again and he felt the gentle huff of breath that escaped her nostrils. He saw her eyes flick away from his for a split-second, downward. And even in the darkness, he could see the faint pink that began to tint her cheeks. Something familiar flickered in her oceanic gaze and his heart skipped then thumped hard and loud against the inside of his chest.

Her voice was lower than a whisper and her lips barely moved as she broke the silence.

"I think I wanna kiss you again."

He suddenly realized what that familiar look in her eyes was: tentativeness. Hesitation. A hint of _fear_. But not a fear of separation or death or even their own mortality - something deeper, something far more difficult to explain.

He felt it, too. Yet he slowly nodded.

And though he'd meant to say_ "me, too,"_ his mouth refused to cooperate and it had come out as nothing more than a grunt rolling past his swollen tongue. He was frozen in place, his heart slamming against his ribs as though it were trying to escape, his eyes locked on Beth's. He was petrified beneath her gaze, allowing her to search him through-and-through for whatever it was she was looking for. He saw her glancing at his lips, saw the pink in her cheeks grow brighter, saw the way her smile pulled upward in a subtle display of anxious excitement. And satisfaction.

Then he blinked and she was leaning in. In the long and drawn-out second that it took her to close the small distance between their faces, the backs of his eyelids played flashes of a gray morning sky and dew-covered grass and her pale skin right in front of him, her blonde hair glaring brightly and filling his vision. He wasn't sure his heart could handle that again. It was an entirely new and different bout of adrenaline that rushed through him when her lips touched his and merely _thinking_ about the first kiss they'd shared made him want to hyperventilate.

But he didn't pull away, didn't flinch, didn't even _breathe_. Her satin lips were on his and he was kissing her back, eyelids slowly falling shut. The rest of his body seemed to melt away and all he could feel was _her_: her soft hair tickling his neck, her tiny nose barely brushing the tip of his, her hot breath against his upper lip, her warm and wet mouth merging with his own. He only remembered his hand when she squeezed it, their fingers still intertwined and palms still clasped tightly together.

Daryl finally forced himself to take a breath, her comforting scent invading his nostrils and making his head swim. The anchors that had been pulling him downward were untethered, falling away like pillows and sending him floating up and up and up. He could barely comprehend the fact that they were still sitting on the floor of an abandoned funeral home, backs against a dusty old couch while the embers of a fire burned out a few feet away. All he could feel, all he could _understand_ was Beth - her presence, her warmth, her _life_. All around him, consuming him and slipping inside of him at the same time.

Her tongue pushed against his lips and he parted them and seconds later, they were exploring one another's teeth and mouths and she was pressing impossibly closer against his side. His free hand found its way over to her lower back though he could barely focus on anything other than her face so close to his and the erratic racing of his pulse. His head was swimming and floating and drowning simultaneously and he still wasn't sure that this wasn't some kind of dream.

He was awake, though. _Very_ awake. And she was here. Right _here_ with him.

And then her other hand was on his shoulder, gentle and hesitant but welcoming all the same. She urged him closer, silently willing him to move _forward_. Willing him to open himself _wider_.

Though he wasn't sure he could.

As quickly as it had begun, it ended. They pulled apart and he lifted his heavy eyelids to find watery blue skies gazing back at him. He could still feel her hot breath on his chin, the wispy ends of her hair on his neck. She blinked and he watched long black eyelashes briefly flutter against pink-tinged skin. Then those vast oceans were staring through him once more, watching expectantly, anticipating silently.

His breath had come to him in sparse bits, halting and catching just below his throat. He was reflexively tensing his chest and his jaw and his hand squeezed hers a little tighter. He was only able to relax when he saw her lips parting and heard her voice filling the silence that had surrounded them once again.

"It gets so cold layin' up there all alone." She subtly nodded her head toward the doorway, in the general direction of the stairs.

He chewed on the inside of his bottom lip, words stuck in his throat. Something about the way she'd said it made his stomach turn, made him grow queasy.

"You deserve to sleep in a real bed, too," she added softly.

He blinked and huffed out a quiet breath. His eyes flicked toward the doorway.

"We could barricade the doors," she suggested, dismantling his arguments before he could form them. "We'd be okay for the night."

He struggled not to disagree, not to give in to the ever-present worry that always reminded him: _one night is all it takes_.

They'd come so close, after all. All it had taken was one night, one evening - one _moment_. Who was to say it couldn't happen again if they dared to let their guard down?

She whispered like the wind that blew through the trees, "This is what you _need_, Daryl."

There was a fluttering in his gut and a stutter in his chest and then her hand was squeezing his tightly and he was staring at her but doubting his own eyes, his own ears. For the briefest second, it was like the fog from outside had seeped into the quiet mortuary and filled every room, swallowing her up in the process.

_Daryl, please snap out of it._

He blinked again and his vision cleared but he suddenly couldn't remember what she'd said. He couldn't remember why her voice had jarred him, why his pulse was throbbing wildly just beneath his jaw. He couldn't figure out why there were goosebumps forming up and down his arms beneath the thin sleeves of his shirt. Had he misheard her again?

Why was he questioning all of his senses lately?

"Jus' fer the night," his own voice escaped against his will, pouring out on a grunted breath that left his lips dry.

She was still so close that he could see the light forming in her eyes as her smile curled upward and brightened her whole face.

He suddenly didn't care what she'd said or what she might've meant, didn't even feel the need to question it, because she was gently tugging his hand and urging him to stand up with her. And then he was following her again, letting her lead him out of the quiet den and through the darkened house until he was navigating the stairs completely by her guidance.

Clasping her warm hand and slowly climbing upward, he told himself he would stay awake all night.

* * *

With the heavy dresser pushed up against the securely locked bedroom door, Daryl hadn't intended to let himself drift off to sleep in the large bed. At first, he'd remained sitting up with his back against the wooden headboard, less than an arm's length away from Beth's warm and relaxed body.

But then everything skipped again, jolting and jumping as though he were spending the entire evening in a half-woken state. As though he were missing parts and then replaying them over and over. Like he was constantly fighting against an overwhelming sense of déjà vu, a sense of '_I've been here in a dream before but I can't remember how this scene goes_.'

Where his muscles reacted however they pleased, and his mind reeled and rewound and replayed. Where his eyes failed him and his ears deceived him and he kept asking himself, _what now what next how did we get here and what comes after?_

He remembered her soft voice and the way it hit his ears in the suffocating silence of the moonlit bedroom, the static-y tingle it sent through his limbs. He remembered allowing his body to move on its own accord, curling around her and wrapping her up in a human security blanket formed by his towering frame. He barely remembered letting his head relax against the pillow or letting his face burrow itself into the crook of her neck.

And he couldn't remember a single thing she said or what he said in response. She'd convinced him to relax somehow, to get close. But the details were like water pouring into his palms and soaking through his skin, spilling out of his cupped hands and over his fingers. He couldn't grasp it, couldn't save it or stop it from flowing outward.

He remembered the hooting of owls outside the windows slowly fading away and being replaced by the squawking of crows, their ominous _caw_s echoing off the trees and the sides of the house. He remembered telling himself that he was only resting his eyes and that he had to pull away from Beth soon because she was limp in his arms and almost too hot to continue holding; sweat was beginning to form on his neck and beneath his shirt and he wanted to separate himself and breathe. She was falling asleep and pulling him over the edge of unconsciousness with her but he needed to sit up and keep watch. He needed to stay _alert_.

Yet at the same time, he had no willpower to unwrap his arms from around her. He couldn't find any ounce of desire to let her go. All of his itching to sit up, to stay awake, to _do more_, had inexplicably dissipated and faded out entirely.

Then he remembered her sleepy voice, sweeping him backwards and causing him to seesaw on the brink of consciousness. She was still motionless in his arms, warm and relaxed, breathing steadily and lulling him into a state of complete comfort.

"There's a radio in that car. We should go get it tomorrow. It could help."

He conjured a mental checklist in the blacks of his eyelids, scribbling a thick double underline beneath '_check the fucking car._'

Then everything slipped away - the last few drops of water dribbled over the edges of his cupped palms and evaporated before him.

Daryl didn't dream. Not since he was a kid, way before Merle ever left.

Every once in a great while, he might have something that could be called a _nightmare_, or a brief bout during sleep where his imagination ran wild. It happened a couple of times in the prison but he'd attributed it to paranoia and living in a constant state of anxiety. And then there was once or twice after the prison fell, when he'd accidentally slept for longer than two hours at a time while on the road with Beth. But it was never anything significant, nothing worth remembering or even thinking about. They were just _dreams_. Bullshit, like most things nowadays. Besides, not even his most outlandish nightmares could compete with the dark reality that he lived in. The world had ended and the dead were devouring the living - what could his pathetically small mind possibly come up with that could be any worse than _that_?

He was standing in the middle of the road, staring at the front of the funeral home. He could see the small grave that marked the one-eyed dog's final resting place, a candle burning in the upstairs window, and the wind rustling the tall grass that was growing around the edges of the small cemetery.

It was dark. The sky was glowing orange and purple, clouds racing past in his peripherals. Flocks of birds black as night took flight and disappeared into the indigo horizon. He couldn't feel the breeze. He couldn't feel anything.

Then she was there, right in front of him. Leaning up on tiptoes and gazing into his eyes, reaching a small hand up and cupping his prickly cheek. She was smiling. And though her lips weren't moving, he could hear her voice clear as day, repeating over and over, echoing all around him and playing like haunting music in the background.

"_I'm not gonna leave you. I'm not gonna leave you. I'm not gonna leave you!_"

Then her lips actually _were_ moving, and she was frowning and speaking directly to him, staring intensely into his eyes.

"Pay attention, Daryl."

He couldn't find his voice. She flickered like a bad signal on an old TV and then she disappeared.

He hadn't even blinked, yet she was gone. His cheek went cold and then a shiver ran through him. A weight appeared in his hand and he glanced down. Her knife was there, clutched tightly in his grasp and dripping with fresh blood. He didn't know why.

Her voice made him look up again: "_I'm not gonna leave you!_"

She was there again, but farther away. He could barely see her in the distance. She wasn't much more than a silhouette and a burst of sunshine hair standing in front of the darkened house, but he could sense her gaze on him. He could _feel_ her eyes boring through him. But he couldn't feel his feet or his legs or any other part of his body.

He watched her lift a hand and point. At first, he thought she was pointing _at_ him - but something told him to _turn around_. And he suddenly realized she was pointing past him, _behind_ him. He spun around to face the other side of the road, to confront the shadowy mass of trees that he knew would be there.

Instead, he found Beth. Standing before him once again, staring up at him with an intensity that rattled his bones. Her blonde hair was spattered with bright red blood, eyebrows raised as she looked to him with something that almost resembled _disappointment_.

"Daryl, we have to snap out of it soon."

He wanted to ask what she meant but then he woke up.

And though it left him with a deep and steady aching in his gut, every single detail from the dream immediately faded away as soon as he opened his eyes.


	5. day three: the calm

**day three: the calm**

The bed was cold and empty when Daryl awoke. Early morning sunlight shone through the windows and lit up the small room. There was a pair of crows perched in the tree at the side of the house, letting out long echoing _caw_s. The sound pulsed in his head and made his heart burst up toward his throat.

The dresser was pushed aside and the door was left unlocked but the house was silent. He stepped as lightly as he could down the stairs, his quietly frantic search for Beth quickly ending when he reached the doorway of the den and found her sitting on the couch.

She turned her head when she heard him enter and his gaze fell upon pale skin and a lost expression. There was a tiny fire barely flickering amongst a pile of kindling in the fireplace, the very tips of its glow dancing across her features. Slivers of sunlight leaked in through the parted curtains, weak and dim and not nearly warm enough to push out the cold of night that had settled inside the house.

Everything was just as hazy as it had been the day before, foggy and faint and reminiscent of a dream-like quality that he couldn't quite pinpoint. This time, he told himself that his head was still mucky from the odd nightmare he'd had, even though he couldn't remember what had happened or _why_ it was a nightmare. All he knew was that it had left him with a resounding sensation of uncertainty, like he was teetering on the very thin line between enlightenment and ignorance.

Then again, he'd been feeling something very close to that ever since he fled the prison with Beth. And he didn't want to question it anymore.

Wordlessly, he crossed the floor and sat down on the couch beside her. His muscles were taut as she reached out and snaked her arms around his middle, gently pulling him closer. Her whisper broke softly through the silence.

"I'm so cold."

His stomach turned and he couldn't stop himself from embracing her and urging her against him. Even if he'd _wanted_ to, he wasn't capable of stopping his own arms from wrapping around her petite frame. She melded into him, allowing him to encompass her with his warmth. She gradually nuzzled her face deeper and deeper into the crook of his neck and he didn't object.

Her skin was cold and clammy against his and he struggled to tug the hems of her cardigan down over the exposed bits of flesh, to spread his own body heat across hers. But he could feel her shivering every few moments no matter how tightly he held her.

_Pay attention, Daryl._

He silently willed his core to radiate every ounce of heat it contained outward and into her. He clutched her form against him, inhaled the sweet scent of her hair mixed with sweat and grass, squeezed his eyes shut and tried to tell himself that he simply needed to get up and go make a bigger fire.

For a split second, he imagined the flames that had engulfed his mother and stolen her life - and his childhood. And then the flames that had consumed the Greene Farm - and _Beth's_ childhood. And then the flames that had engulfed the moonshine shack, and his and Beth's middle fingers pointed directly at it.

_Everything_ had been set ablaze since the world had ended; and every moment afterward had been a repetition of the same definitive point, the same inescapable conclusion.

But something _else_ told him that no amount of flames or heat would ever melt away the cold that he felt right now.

And he was inclined to believe it.

* * *

Breakfast was quiet. Daryl made a small stew out of the meat from their previous hunt and Beth sat by and watched, speaking light-heartedly about nothing in particular every few minutes. He didn't mind it. Her voice filled the silence and made his chest feel a little less tight, a little less full of rocks.

There was a quiet comfort that had taken up residence between them and he wasn't sure if it was a result of the night before or the entirety of the last couple of days but he didn't hate the slight change. In fact, it felt nice. Almost _normal_. Like everything would be okay… well, it definitely would _never_ be okay, but as long as they had each other, they'd work through it and find some kind of peace.

That's what her presence brought him: peace. Reassurance. _Strength_. The will to go on.

She barely touched her meal and he gently urged her to eat more but he knew he couldn't make her do anything she didn't want to do. She shrugged it off and he told himself that she was lacking in appetite from guilt or worry or maybe just from being safe inside a house for the first time in weeks. Maybe she genuinely wasn't hungry, or maybe her mind was so muddled and busy trying to process what they'd done and what would come next that she couldn't focus on something like food.

He could understand that - he'd certainly been there before. More than once.

When her stew began to go cold, she pushed it across the table and insisted that he eat it so as not to let it go to waste. He begrudgingly agreed though he kept his eyes on her the entire time. Watching her through shaggy dark hair as she turned her head and gazed out the kitchen window, wistful and contemplative. Unspoken words lingering on her lips and dissipating in the chilly air. Cerulean eyes filled with something he couldn't describe and barely recognized.

He tried not to think about lying in bed with her, their bodies melding into one, his face buried in her thick hair. Because whenever he did, the heat would rush up his neck and form a tell-tale pink tinge in his cheeks. And when he thought about their lips touching - not once, but _twice_ \- his heart would stutter and his stomach would flip-flop and he was pretty sure his entire face turned beet red.

So he didn't _want_ to think about those moments or linger on them. He didn't want the comfort between them to be ruined. He didn't want anything to _change_. Not really.

Part of him wanted to stay here, in this funeral home with her, for the rest of his life. But he knew that wasn't actually an option.

He struggled to swallow the last couple bites of stew. Everything tasted bland lately and he was almost positive that he hadn't truly enjoyed the act of eating since that last meal before they were so violently interrupted. Even the pigs' feet hadn't tasted as good. He wished they'd found some spices amongst the numerous cabinets in the kitchen but he had the feeling that even those wouldn't help in this case.

He finished eating and the spoon clinked inside the empty bowl. He stared across the table, watching as she turned her head and met his gaze. Her eyes were full of intent and bright with purpose. Her eyebrows raised and he could sense that she had something to say before she even opened her mouth.

Nonetheless, her gentle voice barrelled through him like a Mack truck.

"Maybe we should leave tomorrow."

_Tomorrow?_ He thought. _That's so soon._

At the same time, it felt like an eternity away. Who knew what could possibly happen between now and then?

"What makes ya say that?" He mumbled.

She blinked. "I mean, we've been meanin' to move on anyway."

"Yeah," he grumbled. "But why tomorrow?"

She shrugged but he could see the tightness in her shoulders. "Well it can't go on forever."

He swallowed hard and dug his fingernails into the side of his thigh under the table, through the thick denim of his jeans. Every muscle in his body was tensing up. _She's right._

"Ain't gotta end so quick, though." He didn't know where the words had come from but they'd flowed out reflexively.

Her eyes flicked over toward the window and back to him and he could see her worrying her lower lip. Then she muttered, "No, but we should keep goin'. You _have_ to keep going."

His heart skipped but he ignored it. A beam of morning sunlight poured in from above the sink and illuminated the tabletop, casting a halo-like glow over the paper and pen that still lay to the side. His gaze wandered toward it and an odd, inexplicable feeling churned to life in the pit of his stomach.

"Gotta finish that thank-you note first," he said. His voice had escaped before he could stop it.

Her mouth curved into a curious smile, eyelashes fluttering as she glanced at the note then back at him. She did a slight nod of the head and her lips barely parted.

"Why don't you finish it for me?"

His brow creased and he stared back at her with a quizzical expression, slowly lifting his chin as he studied her from across the table. She didn't break her gaze. His stomach turned over painfully.

_Snap out of it, Daryl._

The sun was rising higher outside. Morning sunlight filled the small kitchen and poured through the windows, growing brighter by the second and illuminating everything around them. Yet the warmth wasn't there. There was still a blanket of cold surrounding them, settling heavier and heavier upon them with every moment that passed. He kept waiting for it to get warmer, waiting for that familiar comfort that always came with daylight. But it only seemed to get colder. Goosebumps formed on his arms.

"Why would I do that?" He mumbled. "Ain't nobody gonna be able ta read my chicken scratch."

She giggled and shook her head, ponytail swaying lightly and glinting golden in the sun.

"You've always got some kind of excuse."

He knew she didn't mean anything serious by it, but it still hit a sensitive spot within him. She was always calling him out, even when she didn't realize it.

He bit down hard on his lower lip and shoved his chair back away from the table, standing up and grabbing his crossbow in one swift motion. He threw the Horton over his shoulder and quickly turned toward the doorway, her words still ringing in his ears. His head was suddenly aching and the goosebumps on his arms wouldn't go away.

She called out tentatively, "Daryl - "

He grunted and left the kitchen, gripping the strap of his crossbow tightly and striding through the cold house until he was at the front door. He snatched up the bag that was still sitting on the small table by the door on his way out, throwing it over his other shoulder and walking out to face blinding sunlight.

There was an ice-cold chill in the air and a breeze picked up as he stepped off the porch. It brought the scent of morning dew and humidity and rain. And _death_. The unmistakable pungent odor of putrid flesh and decay.

He scrunched his nose and continued walking, eyes darting in every which direction. But there were no Walkers within sight and none to be heard. His feet were carrying him across the yard so quickly that he couldn't decide which direction the breeze was coming from or if he should be worried about an approaching herd.

Maybe he was imagining the smell. Maybe, he pondered as he passed the small patch of freshly-turned soil, he was just smelling the remnants of what they'd buried while it was decaying inside the shallow grave beside the tree. Or maybe it was something else that he couldn't _see_ yet.

He glanced over his shoulder once to make sure the front door was still shut and the porch was empty. Beth was still inside. Probably watching him from the window.

Always watching.

Then his eyes were focused forward, staring intently at the path before him while his legs and feet continued carrying him along. The crossbow on his back felt lighter than usual and the bag was practically weightless. Yet his boots seemed to weigh a ton, draining him of energy with every step he took, becoming more and more difficult to lift with every stride. And the knives sheathed at his belt were suddenly made of pure lead, hanging heavy and obtuse against his thighs. His throat was tightening and his mouth had gone dry. The sunlight still wasn't warm, even as it blazed across him and stung his narrowed eyes.

The breeze had stopped and so had his racing thoughts. There was still a thick layer of fog hovering over the undergrowth of the woods and he could've sworn he saw it swirl and grow denser the moment he stepped through the trees and out of the light. But at this point, he was almost certain that his vision was all fucked up. Everything was flickering again and there was static forming in places where static wasn't supposed to exist. There was a sharp and painful sensation in his gut. The hairs on the back of his neck stood on end.

"_Ca-caw, ca-caw!_"

He tilted his head skyward and watched a pair of crows leap from a high branch and take flight, disappearing through the canopy of leaves. His tongue was made of paper now, the inside of his mouth cold steel.

When he looked forward and took another step, the car came into sight. A white cross glared menacingly at him through the trees. His breath caught in his throat and he struggled to lift his foot and take the next step.

It was nothing more than a whisper on the non-existent breeze: "..._Getting closer..._"

He stopped and spun around, his head on a swivel as he searched the darkened woods for signs of another person. But he _knew_ the voice. He recognized it. He just wasn't sure how it was possible - he would've _known_ if she'd followed him out here.

Was he losing his fucking mind?

No - not today. Not _here_. He ignored the inexplicable voice and took a purposeful step forward. Dead leaves and sticks crunched beneath his boot. His hands were trembling so he gripped the crossbow strap tighter, dug his fingernails harder into the side of his thigh. He couldn't figure out how to slow his erratic heart rate, though.

He was taking another step forward. And another one. Her voice was repeating inside his head like a clipped audio recording: _See if there's a map… There's another tarp in the trunk… There's a radio in that car… You __**have**__ to keep going… _His feet kept moving. His legs kept dragging his weight onward.

Then he stopped. He was so close that he could've reached out and touched the cool metal of the trunk. The stench of decay suddenly became overwhelming, invading his nostrils and churning his stomach. He swallowed back bile and released his death-grip on the seam of his jeans, slowly lifting his hand and reaching out. A cold sweat had formed on his forehead, making his hair cling to his brow.

_Pay attention, Daryl!_

The unmistakable sound of groaning geeks hit his ears and he froze. He waited a split-second, listening closely, and when the sound came again, he retracted his hand and spun around. It grew louder, heavier, more ominous. It was distant but too close for comfort. The goosebumps were multiplying beneath his jeans and shirt, the trembling in his hands coming to an abrupt halt.

He _knew_ it had been too quiet all morning. And all night. He _knew_ he should've been prepared for _something_.

He trudged through the woods, back the way he came, his pace quickening while his mind raced. The smell of death was all around him, consuming him, choking the air from his lungs. But his feet kept moving. The fog grew thicker around his ankles, disappearing as soon as he emerged from the tree line and felt gravel crunching beneath his boots.

He blinked against the harsh sunlight and moved to cross the road but his legs stopped working. His heart dropped down to the ground with a hard _thunk_ that stole his breath.

There was a herd of Walkers stumbling and limping toward the funeral home, approaching from the dense woods that inhabited the opposite side of the house from the graveyard. He counted at least twelve ambling undead, groaning and growling into the breeze, with the leading Walker mere feet away from the alarm system Daryl had rigged around the perimeter.

He was moving before he'd registered his own actions, charging forward with the small herd set in his sights. He pulled his crossbow from his shoulder as he stepped from gravel onto damp grass, crossing the distance with long, purposeful strides. He was no longer in control - his body was acting on pure instinct. It was almost like sleepwalking at this point. He was already visualizing the first corpse falling to the ground, strategizing a quick and easy plan to take down at least half the group before he would have to come into contact with any of them. He dropped the small bag in the grass behind him and left it there. His hands were loading the bolt, gripping the weapon and grazing his fingertip over the trigger. Blood began to rush hot and fast through his veins. _Faster, faster, faster._

Then he saw a flash of blonde hair in his periphery and her voice rang out from nearby.

"Daryl, we gotta go!"

He swung his head around to look back over his shoulder, stopping for only a second when his eyes locked onto Beth. She was standing on the porch, the tips of her boots teetering on the edge of the topmost stair, a frantic look on her face.

She was ready to run.

_Not this time, _he thought. _Not again. Not yet._

He heard his own voice yelling back, "Get back inside - I _got_ this!" Then he turned and lifted his crossbow, taking aim at the first monster's head.

There was an inexplicable anger coursing through his entire body, fueling him and pushing him harder. He watched his arrow penetrate the leading geek's skull and before the corpse had hit the ground, he was reloading.

The anger morphed into pure _fury_ inside him. It built higher, higher, _higher_. He couldn't hear the Walkers' growls over his own rushing blood, his own heart thumping loudly in his ears.

His head was swimming with red. Bright red. Dark red. Thick, wet, oozing red. Endless oceans of red, red, _red_.

And then everything went black.

* * *

…_Scream to God:  
"I want it more!"  
More hurricanes, snow storms, rain in my face  
More midnights drunk and dizzy, dancing at your place  
A life of fame and fortune and the star of some show  
Now it's almost over,  
Almost time to go…_

_-BG_

* * *

His vision returned in a tunnel. He couldn't feel his body but he could see the dying grass beneath him and the gray morning sunlight. He couldn't hear anything except his own panting breaths, his racing heart gradually slowing in his ears. He couldn't remember how he'd gotten here, kneeling in the damp grass near the trees, less than a yard away from the perimeter alarm system - but on the _other_ side of his makeshift border, closer to the woods.

His head was light as air and the tunnel seemed to be closing in on him. The darkness was preparing to swallow him back up.

_Snap out of it, Daryl!_

Then he felt her small hand on his back, smelled her familiar scent and sensed her presence beside him. Her voice was the only thing that could break through the loudly rushing blood in his ears.

"You did it, Daryl. It's okay… We're safe. Now come inside."

Everything came back to him at once. He blinked rapidly and turned his head to find her soft blue eyes inches away and set intently on him. Then her gaze flicked toward the ground and the scene before them and his eyes followed.

Thirteen dead geeks lay scattered in the grass, half of them with bolts in their heads and the other half with gaping knife wounds in their faces or temples. A couple of them had been slaughtered - vicious slices from a sharp blade making them unrecognizable as anything more than a raggedy corpse attached to a shredded mess. He recognized his own work when he saw it. But he couldn't _remember_ it.

Acid rose in his throat and he looked down to find both knives from his belt - his _and_ Beth's - lying in the grass inches away from his red-and-black-soaked hands. Their blades and handles were drenched in crimson blood and brain matter. His crossbow was lying discarded several feet away, his few remaining arrows embedded into the flesh of half a dozen motionless corpses. He was still panting, struggling to catch his breath. Every muscle in his arms and legs felt like it was on fire. His head throbbed and ached and he could feel cold sweat dripping down his face and trailing down his neck.

(Or was that blood...? He didn't want to wipe it away and find out.)

The corpse closest to him was the most freshly massacred. It looked like it had barely taken five sluggish steps out of the woods before Daryl had slaughtered it. There was nothing discernible about the mess he'd left except for a pale yellow dress and the frail limbs of what was once an undead teenage girl. A bite mark on her leg had festered and turned into a gaping hole of rotting flesh, but that was nothing compared to what her head looked like now. Thick dark blood oozed onto the grass and seeped down into the soil.

_Maybe I could've __**done **__something!_

He looked to Beth with wild eyes, searching her face for an explanation. Her mouth was pressed into a thin line and her eyes were pooled with unshed tears.

His voice slipped past the hard knot in his throat and came out hoarse and quiet. _Desperate_. "Beth, I don't…"

He couldn't find the words. She leaned down closer and wrapped her arms around him. She hugged him tightly. He breathed her in.

"Daryl, it's okay. Let's go back inside... It's gonna rain soon," she whispered, pulling away gently and urging him to stand up.

He lifted his hand from the grass and reached out, grasping hers tightly and using it to find his balance - to find his _strength_. Part of him wanted to collapse and close his eyes. Part of him wanted to give up right here and now and he wasn't sure why.

When he finally stood to his feet, he looked up reflexively and saw a large black crow staring down at him from the frontmost peak of the roof. He watched it open its dark beak but no sound came out. Then he felt Beth grabbing both of his hands and squeezing them tightly, even though they were caked in blood and grass. He looked back down at her and watched the breeze ruffle her golden hair.

Everything was silent.

* * *

He didn't regain the ability to form a sentence until they were back inside the house. He wasn't sure if it had been several minutes or several hours and he was still wracking his brain for an explanation. But he couldn't fill in the time he'd lost outside.

It was like he'd blinked and skipped ahead. Had he been moving on autopilot? His lack of answers was beginning to feel scary. _Terrifying_. He was grasping at straws and still coming out empty-handed.

His voice was rough, nothing more than a grumble. But it sounded loud in his own ears, in the silence of the kitchen.

"I didn't mean to… _do_ that."

Her eyes flicked up and met his. Her expression softened and she gave him an understanding smile. Her voice was much gentler than his, much quieter. The sound soothed his aching soul.

"You didn't want it to happen again. And you didn't let it."

_Oh._

She _did_ understand. She was explaining to him what he had been unable to explain himself.

For a fleeting moment - and possibly the millionth time - he wondered if she could somehow read his mind.

He sat stoic and statue-like in the chair, struggling to keep his hands steady while Beth dipped a washcloth into a large mixing bowl she'd filled with water and set on the table beside them. She worked slowly and patiently, sitting in the other chair placed directly in front of him, so close that their knees were touching.

He finally acknowledged the fact that she didn't _need_ to read his mind. He watched as she carefully wiped the dirt and blood from his fingers, his hands, his wrists. Taking her time, touching him tentatively yet with the care that a lover might offer. She was meticulous and attentive, leaning down close to inspect every spot of dirt and blood before washing it away, gripping his large hand in her small one and turning it over as needed.

And he decided she could already read _him_. In fact, they were long past that. She already _knew_ him - she'd seeped into the very pores of his being and invaded his head. She'd _changed_ him.

For better or for worse, he could not decide. But he was definitely _different_ because of her.

She finished with his hands and he continued losing track of time. The sun was rising high in the sky outside, struggling to shine through a thick blanket of gray clouds. His heart rabbitted in his chest as Beth's soft hand cupped his cheek. She leaned in so close that he could smell nothing but her familiar scent. His eyelids fell shut. He slowly relaxed when he felt the cool wetness of the washcloth against his other cheek. He released a deep breath through his nostrils, shockwaves rattling his bones from the warmth of her palm on his skin.

"I'll go clean up my mess 'fore it gets dark," he mumbled. He opened his eyes and found her face inches away. He felt her hand pause against his cheek.

"Don't waste yer energy. Ain't nobody comin'," she said quietly.

He swallowed hard and closed his eyes again.

There was a beat. She wiped at his cheek and pulled away. He heard the soft splash of water then felt the wet washcloth against his skin.

She whispered so softly that he had to open his eyes again and assure himself her mouth was moving.

"You didn't check the car, did you?"

He cleared his throat but the knot that had formed there wasn't going away. So he shook his head, just barely but enough that she could see it.

Her expression didn't change. He couldn't even identify a flicker of disappointment in her eyes.

It was like she'd already known.

"That's okay," she whispered simply. "We'll get there."

He didn't know what she meant. And he wasn't sure he _wanted_ to.

_Pay attention, Daryl._

He shut his eyes and reached one heavy hand up to wrap it gently around her dainty wrist. She squeezed his cheek and hummed contentedly.

"No bites. No scratches. You're lucky," she muttered.

He realized she'd been inconspicuously checking him while she cleaned away the dirt and blood. It brought an odd sensation to life in his stomach. Something about it was reassuring. Comforting.

He kept his eyes shut. He squeezed her wrist a little tighter.

"Yeah. _Lucky_."

* * *

He was standing on the back porch, leaning against one of the support beams and staring out at the vast field that lay behind the house. A transparent layer of fog had settled over the tall grass, hanging in the air like thin smoke. The sparse bits of sunlight that snuck through the clouds had no effect on the cold earth, no warmth to offer. Everything remained gray. The cold snaked across the soil and into the wood of the porch, up through Daryl's whole body. A cigarette hung from his fingertips, smoke curling from the tip and forming a wispy cloud of white beside him. He brought it up to his lips every few seconds and took a long drag, exhaling thick puffs of nicotine and hot breath that slowly dissipated into the afternoon air.

Thunder rumbled low and ominous in the sky. The electricity in the air was echoing through his nerves. The hairs on the back of his neck stood on end and he took a deeper drag from the cigarette. He held the smoke in his lungs for as long as he could stand. He couldn't tear his eyes away from the fog, from the empty silence of the field that lay beyond his handmade perimeter. His nose was filled with the smell of rain, musky and earthy and foreboding. The sun had become nothing more than a dull glowing spot in the sky behind rapidly-moving clouds.

The birds had gone quiet. Everything had gone quiet. As though every living organism was holding its collective breath in anticipation of the coming storm. There was another long rumble of thunder, vibrating the porch beneath his boots. Then the sky lit up with lightning and flickered like a weak heartbeat. The smell of rain grew stronger.

He didn't hear the door opening or the creak of the old wood beneath her shoes but he felt her appear at his side. Her presence radiated warmth and energy. She took a silent step closer and stopped. He could see her blonde hair in his periphery, the look of wistful wonder in her eyes as she lifted her head and gazed skyward.

He took one last puff from his cigarette and tossed the butt out into the grass, exhaling the small cloud of smoke and turning his head to look at her. He was about to shove his hands into his pockets but before he could, she'd reached out and grasped one tightly. Then she interlaced their fingers and stood closer, hands clasped between them and arms pressed together.

And then they were both staring out at the same view, though he wasn't sure it was with a matched sense of wonder.

"It's gonna rain soon," she said softly.

He glanced over at her then back out to the field and the rolling storm clouds. A wave of déjà vu washed over him. But he didn't have the strength to acknowledge it.

"_Mmhmm_. Took long enough," he mumbled.

"Everything takes time," she said simply.

He turned his head and looked at her again and this time, she met his gaze. Her eyes brightened.

"Right?" She smirked like it was some kind of reference or inside joke that he was supposed to understand.

He grunted and croaked out, "Right."

But he wasn't sure what he was agreeing with, exactly.

She turned her head and looked up toward the sky again. He suddenly felt the misting of rain on his cheeks. He turned his head forward and blinked. The fog was blanketing everything. Fat droplets of water began to pour down from above. Thunder rumbled, rattling the earth and his chest.

He squeezed her hand and she squeezed his back.

_Daryl, you gotta snap out of it soon._

* * *

They were in the kitchen again. The rain was creating a steady, almost melodic rhythm atop the roof. Every few moments, there was a clap of thunder and a flash of lightning. The wind was beginning to pick up outside. It whispered through the wood of the house and sent cold drafts across the floors.

There was still enough sunlight coming through the windows that everything was visible but Beth lit a candle and sat it in the center of the table anyway. It cast a low, barely noticeable glow across the tabletop, but did nothing to cut through the hazy gray that remained layered over everything.

No matter how many times Daryl blinked, his vision was never quite _clear_. Or maybe it was his mind…

Beth's voice interrupted his silent contemplation. "You need ta eat again."

He raised his head and looked at her from where he sat at the table. She turned her back to the window and faced him, a brief glint of sunlight shining through golden hair. Her oceanic gaze was set on him, eyebrows raised expectantly. His mouth was stone-dry and he couldn't form a response.

"Have you had any water?" She glanced him up and down, then took a step forward and nodded her head toward the half-empty bottle of water that sat on the table. "Drink some."

He leaned forward in his chair and opened his mouth to argue but she was turning away and toward the counter, her back to him. His lips snapped shut. Then she turned back around and faced him once more and he watched her approach the table to set down a small plate of food. It was the leftovers from their other hunt.

"It's still good - you should eat it before it goes bad," she said, gently pushing the plate across the table toward him.

Thunder rumbled long and low around them. The rhythmic rain continued.

"You gonna eat, too?" He asked.

"I will." She flashed him a crooked half-smile. "You need ta stop worryin' about me and worry about yerself for once."

_I can't,_ he wanted to say.

She nodded her head toward the doorway and paused. "I'm gonna go build a fire before it gets too cold."

He started, "Ain't you gonna - "

But she cut him off: "Eat."

All he could do was follow her with his eyes as she strode out of the room until she disappeared from sight.

When the kitchen fell silent and the emptiness began to surround him, he leaned forward and focused on the food and water before him. He spent the next few minutes forcing down bite after bite of bland meat, swallowed by swig after swig of water that somehow left his mouth feeling even drier than before. He left a hearty portion of food for Beth and only finished the bottle of water once he'd checked and made sure there was another bottle available for her.

The thought of sitting beside her in front of a warm fire willed him to stand a little faster, to leave the kitchen with a little more urgency. His footfalls were heavy on the floor as he walked into the entryway and towards the den. Then he stopped.

His body froze. A chill ran down his spine and goosebumps trailed across his shoulders. Where he'd expected to hear only the sounds of a crackling fire and Beth's quiet movements from down the hall, instead Daryl heard _something else_.

At first, he thought the static that clouded his vision had leaked over to infiltrate his hearing, too. It was like the crackle of an old radio; like his brain was on a frequency that was increasingly out-of-range.

"_...Gorman, what's your status?"_

His heart plummeted to his feet: it was a _voice_. Filled with and immersed in static, grainy and hoarse and desperate, coming from nowhere and everywhere all at the same time. The sound flooded his ears and ripped through his skull, tugging him backwards and down simultaneously.

"_...Gorman, come in!_"

He was struggling to remain upright. It felt like this far-off, otherworldly sound was physically stealing the air from his lungs and attempting to topple him over, trying to violently shake everything around him. He silently willed the trembling in his hands to stop, willed his knees to stop wobbling. He squeezed his eyes shut and took a deep breath.

When he opened them, he was at the front door. He wasn't sure how he'd gotten there, how he'd managed to turn around and walk while he was still fighting to shake the sudden vertigo from his head. But here he was, staring out the window. Staring through the glass and the haze and the pouring rain.

_You're not paying attention, Daryl._

His heart was pounding in his chest, rattling his ribcage and making his head throb. He was fighting back bile. His head threatened to begin spinning. The world wanted to quake around him again.

All he could see through the foggy glass and the rain was a dark mass of trees across the road. But the static echoed in his ears and the back of his mind, as did the unfamiliar voice.

"_...Gorman, do you copy?!_"

Distant, yet all too close.

Then he heard something he recognized: a _familiar _voice. The only sound he admittedly _wanted_ to hear these days. It warmed the cold that had begun to freeze his insides. It brought him tumbling back down to reality.

"Are you okay?"

Suddenly, his feet were firmly planted, the world was upright and the static was receding from his hearing, his vision, even his mind. If only for the briefest moment.

He peeled his gaze from the window and spun around. Beth was there, standing a few feet away by the stairs. She was watching him curiously, a hint of concern in her soft blue eyes. They were locked on his, an endless sky staring into a vast ocean.

He blinked and nodded deftly. She arched an eyebrow.

Then her expression fell into understanding. He saw her eyes flick past his shoulder for a split-second before locking back onto his gaze with deeper intensity.

Her voice lowered to a whisper. "What'd you hear?"

There was a loud _crack_ of thunder that rattled through the whole house.

He shook his head and took a tentative step toward her. "Nothin'."

A flash of lightning through the window behind him sent a shockingly bright glare across Beth's face and turned her hair silvery white for no longer than a heartbeat. He could've swore he saw a mirrored bolt of lightning in her eyes at the same moment.

It was _more_ than a reflection, though.

He could see her hesitating, the worry evident in her tensed shoulders. But then she glanced behind her shoulder, toward the den. And when she looked back at him, she offered a small smile.

"I got the fire goin'. Come sit with me. It's gettin' cold out here."

He kept the window to his back and followed her wordlessly.

* * *

Daryl couldn't stop himself. He wound up standing at the window in the den, parting the curtains tentatively and gazing through the glass and condensation.

He watched the dark clouds roll across the sky, lightning crackling inside puffs of gray, sunlight struggling to break through. Thunder rumbled the floor beneath him and vibrated up his spine. The rain continued. It was falling in sheets and then tapering off for seconds at a time, only to pour down even harder. Cold wind and water pelted against the outside of the house and created a foreboding melody inside that seemed to emanate from the walls. The trees and tall grass swayed, blurring everything into a haze of rain and wind and clouds.

He thought he could see something moving in the distance. He narrowed his eyes and leaned in, the tip of his nose touching the cool glass. It looked like a Walker, staggering and ambling through the storm, the torn and raggedy hems of its shirt whipping around in the wind. It seemed to be meandering around in circles, fighting not to topple over. Then another movement caught Daryl's attention and his eyes flicked left, settling on a large tree that sat just outside the window.

There was a crow perched on the outermost branch, black wings spread wide and dark beak opened. Its beady little eyes were focused on Daryl, as though it could see him through the rain and the glass. He watched its wings retract and its beak open and close. He couldn't hear the _caw_s it was undoubtedly letting out. And he couldn't figure out why this bird was letting the rain soak its feathers or why it wouldn't look away. He wanted to yell at it, to tell it to take shelter from the storm and _leave him the hell alone_.

A loud _crack_ of thunder interrupted his thoughts and his eyes flicked back out toward the tall grass. The Walker was gone.

_Daryl, snap out of it._

He stepped away from the window and pulled the curtains shut. The sounds of the storm softened and all he could hear was the crackle of a fire in the fireplace and the gentle splashing of water in a bowl. He turned around and saw Beth sitting on the rug between the sofa and the fireplace, slowly and meticulously wiping every bit of dried blood and brain matter from their knives with a damp cloth. He couldn't remember picking them up before he came inside, which meant she must've gone out and retrieved the weapons after he slaughtered that group of geeks. But he didn't want to mull over it too much. He didn't like thinking about it because it was _frightening_: the blackness had consumed him and he'd massacred a dozen of the undead with his own two hands, all while stuck in a state of murderous autopilot.

He knew what he was capable of, but seeing the result was… _sickening_. A dark reminder of his natural instincts and the unbridled rage that lay constantly dormant deep inside him.

She seemed to be washing all of that away, though. Slowly and carefully. He stood frozen for a long moment, watching her dip the cloth into the bowl of water and wipe away layer after layer of rust-colored debris. Watching the flames of the fire reflecting back at him in the shiny silver of the blades. Listening to the sheets of rain pelting against every outer surface of the house.

"Gonna sharpen 'em, too?" He asked, taking a silent half-step in her direction.

She glanced up at him and responded light-heartedly, "Figured you could handle that part. I just wanted ta make 'em _pretty_ again."

"Yers looks good," he jerked his head toward her knife, freshly-cleaned and lying atop a dry towel on the floor beside her. "Good enough ta keep on yer belt. Still gotch'er sheath here."

He was running his thumb across the cool leather of the sheath that hung empty on his belt, watching her scrub at a particularly dark spot of blood.

She didn't look up at him though he could see her mouth curving into a coy half-smile as she muttered, "Jus' keep holdin' onto it. I don't need it right now."

The air was getting warmer around him yet he shivered. He wanted to ask what she meant but he couldn't seem to find the right words. He chewed on the end of his thumb nervously and watched her while the crackle of the fire slowly became louder in his ears than the sounds of the storm.

He told himself that if he responded, she would just insist he try to go check the car again - that's probably what this was, some kind of _power play_. Maybe she thought he'd need her knife for extra protection since he'd been so _reckless_ lately. He began to wonder if he should be offended, but then she was lifting her head and meeting his contemplative gaze and all of the nonsense trains of thought that had been running rampant through his mind came to an abrupt stop.

There was no malice in her eyes, no ill intentions. Not a trace of doubt. No, she still believed in him. Even though he wasn't sure why. And she didn't _do_ power play. He knew that. He'd _known_ that.

_Fuck_, was his sanity _actually_ slipping away, or…?

"I think the rain'll stop later tonight," she said matter-of-factly. "It'll make the roads really muddy tomorrow, though. And fer the next couple days."

She looked back down at the nearly pristine knife clutched in her hand, wiping away one last microscopic smudge before carefully lying it atop the dry towel, beside her own knife. There was a _pop!_ from the fire.

He grunted and mumbled, "Might not be good fer travellin'."

Beth's face fell, brows knitting together. "When's it _ever_ good fer travellin' out there?"

"'S not what I'm sayin' - jus' meant we could wait fer a better time."

"Well, if we wait for the perfect time, we'll be waiting _forever_."

He shrugged, frowning. "Why you so eager ta leave? Couple more days won't matter. Ain't no point in makin' things harder'an they gotta be."

She scoffed, her tone growing bitter. "Yer the only one making it _harder_. Just finish the thank-you note an' be done with it so we can _both_ move on."

He froze, taken aback by the sharp bite in her voice. Confused by the statement itself.

He was running over her words in his head and trying to make sense of them. But nothing she said made _sense_ anymore.

_Pay attention, Daryl._

Then she was speaking again but her tone had completely changed. Her eyes were brighter and she was smirking playfully once more.

His mind skipped and glitched. The tension in his muscles suddenly felt forced and he blinked, narrowing his eyes and studying her expression. Questioning his perception.

What had she said just a moment ago? What had _he_ said? Why couldn't he recall it?

"So, are you gonna sharpen these or are you just gonna stand there an' _stare_ at me all day?"

Daryl couldn't remember why he'd been so _confused_ a few seconds before. But it didn't matter. What good would it do to continue questioning his sanity? It would only cause more problems that they didn't need.

He looked away and nodded, glancing down to assure himself that his feet were still firmly planted on the floor. His hand fell away from the empty sheath on his belt.

He just needed to focus on finding his whetstone.


	6. day three: the storm

**day three: the storm**

The knives were clean and dry and freshly sharpened, resting snugly in their sheaths against his thigh. The sun was beginning to descend outside, inching toward the horizon from behind a thick cover of storm clouds. The thunder had quieted and the lightning only flashed every twenty minutes or so. The sheets of water pelting against the roof dwindled to a steady pattering of droplets. The world grew calm and silent and the inside of the house mirrored that silence.

Despite the fact that Daryl was battling with the loud arguments inside his own head. Continuously questioning himself and everything he was supposedly perceiving. There was an earthquake rattling the very foundation of everything he understood just beneath the surface of his skin. It made his lips purse tightly and his shoulders grow taut. It made his teeth grit together painfully and his nerves prickle with uncomfortable anticipation. But he pushed it down and away, forcing it deeper within himself until he was assured it wouldn't interfere with his and Beth's safety.

After coming this far and doing this much, he wouldn't allow himself to be the reason they failed. To be the reason she lost _anything_ else. And she already worried enough for the both of them, she didn't need to know that he was struggling with his grasp on reality.

It was just the weather, he assured himself. Once the storm passed, things would feel normal again. The gray haze would recede and the sun would come out again and his mind would be clear and sharp, like it was supposed to be.

She'd said something about supper while he was sharpening the knives, and that had led them to eventually wandering out of the fire-warmed den and toward the kitchen. He hadn't bothered arguing or trying to say no. He was too preoccupied with trying to convince himself that _hours_ had passed since their last meal and that, somehow, time was repetitively slipping from his grasp - in fact, it was beginning to evade his comprehension entirely.

He was lingering by the staircase, eyes drifting back and forth between the doorway to the kitchen and the condensated front window. His legs were feeling particularly feather-light lately and this moment was no different. He listened to the sounds of Beth rummaging around in the kitchen as she gathered a small meal of pigs' feet and peanut butter and diet soda. She was humming at the same time, flowing into the melody effortlessly from the tailend of her last spoken sentence.

He recognized the tune but couldn't name it. A trail of goosebumps formed on the back of his neck and he stifled a shiver. It was a song he hadn't heard since before The Turn - a string of notes drenched so heavily in nostalgia that it made his heart flutter painfully in his chest.

For some reason, he momentarily thought of Merle. In the blacks of his eyelids during a long blink, Daryl saw flashes of twinkling lightning bugs in tall grass and his big brother laughing with a cold beer in his hand, dressed in a military uniform. And then an even briefer flash of a reanimated Merle, all hook-handed and bloody-mouthed and dead-eyed. But the recollection passed as soon as Daryl's eyes opened. Like another wave of devastating déjà vu that left aftershocks of dread in its wake.

Cold, inexplicable, nonsensical dread. He couldn't seem to _put it away_.

_Snap out of it, Daryl._

A tiny movement and a splash of out-of-place color from the corner of his eye drew his attention away from the window and the doorway. Desperate for a distraction, he stepped closer to the staircase and leaned in, peering down closely at the edge of one of the steps. It was a Praying Mantis, bright green and light brown and perched on the stair with its tiny hands clasped together in mock prayer. It sat motionless, attempting to blend into its surroundings. But Daryl had spotted it crawling slowly and now he was inches away and staring curiously, a bit perplexed.

He couldn't remember the last time he'd come across one of these things - months? _Years_? Not that he was ever really looking for insects. He was always too focused on the animals worth hunting and the undead creatures that constantly lurked in the shadows.

_Ain't nothin' worth seein' out there anymore anyway._

"What're you doin'?"

His head snapped up at the sound of Beth's voice and he met her gaze from where she stood just outside the kitchen. A curious smirk tugged at the corner of her mouth and she took a step closer when he nodded his head toward the insect before him.

"What'd you find? A _bug_?" She chuckled, approaching and peering down at the edge of the stair curiously. "Yer really out here playin' with bugs, huh?"

He scoffed, smirking and shaking his head. He looked back down at the mantis and muttered, "Jus' thought it was weird. Didn't think I'd see one a these things this time of year. 'S too cold for 'em."

Beth shrugged. "Well, it probably came inside ta get warm. It's too cold for us out there, too."

A low rumble of thunder echoed in the sky above and Daryl narrowed his eyes, still staring down at the mantis but drifting away into his own head for the millionth time. He couldn't seem to remember what season it was. He'd been so sure that they were approaching winter, but now he was wondering if they were actually going into spring… how long had it been again? Was it time for nature to die away or was it time for it to come back to life?

"But it's… winter," he mumbled, watching with glazed eyes as the mantis slowly began to crawl forward. "Or somethin' like that."

"Yeah," she replied softly from beside him. "But that don't matter. It's only winter fer so long, then it's spring. 'S just a never-ending cycle… Everything dies. Everything gets replaced. Everything comes back in one form or another."

"Yeah - 'specially the shit that ain't _supposed_ to."

He wanted to blink but he was afraid that the moment would skip or change again, like it had a habit of doing lately. He didn't even dare turn his head to see the knowing smile on her face. He could already hear the certainty in the mellow tone of her voice.

"That don't matter either. Whether there's dead people walkin' around or not, whether there's people _at all_, everythin' else is gonna find its way. The whole world keeps moving, with or without us. It keeps goin' through all the cycles, even after the apocalypse... _Everything_ comes back."

"_Huh_," he grunted. "Might wanna tell that ta yer furry friend we buried outside."

There was a beat.

Then she said simply, "Some of us weren't made to survive this world. We just play our parts and move on. We were _never_ meant to survive it."

She spoke with the kind of observation and wisdom that terrified him. Like she had it all figured out and was waiting for him to catch on. He swallowed hard and finally blinked, partially hoping that her last statement _would_ fade away. But it didn't.

_It's like you were __**made**__ for how things are now._

"Don't say _we _like it's a group yer a part of," he said, his voice coming out hoarse and rough. "You _survived_."

He turned his head and met her big blue eyes, staring wide and curious at him. His mouth was bone-dry.

She whispered back, "_You_ survived."

_Pay attention, Daryl._

Hot tears were pricking the corners of his eyes. He searched her expression, her face, the downward curve in the line of her mouth. But he couldn't find the answer he was seeking. He fought back the urge to respond, fearful of how it might come out.

It wasn't like he had anything _useful_ to say, anyway.

"C'mon," she said, stepping back and gesturing toward the kitchen. Her tone was light-hearted again. "You need to eat."

He didn't have the willpower to disagree.

* * *

They were back in the den, sitting in front of the fire with bellies full of pigs' feet and peanut butter. The last rays of evening sunlight were leaking in through the curtains, still hazed with gray from the clouds and the receding storm. It would be dark within the hour. But everything was quiet. The funeral home was peaceful and undisturbed and though the silence would normally make him uneasy, he was having a hard time feeling anything but relaxed at the moment. The fire was warm and crackling quietly beneath the mantle and the small sofa was swallowing him up, enveloping his tired muscles and weak limbs until he could no longer muster the strength to sit up.

His eyelids had grown so heavy that he was struggling to keep them lifted, letting them fall closed for longer and longer with each blink. The ceiling above was becoming blurrier and blurrier through fluttering lashes, his body floating away from him on a gentle wave of unseen water. Then he heard light footsteps and his eyes snapped open. But it was just Beth, standing and leaving the room. He followed her with his gaze and listened closely for hints of where she'd gone, but he didn't have to wonder for more than a few seconds because she reappeared. And she was carrying a guitar.

"Look what I found in the attic - an' it's not in bad shape either," she proclaimed, smiling proudly and holding the instrument up for him to see from where she stood beside the sofa.

He examined it from where he lay, his arm still resting over his forehead and the rest of his body melded with the cushions. The guitar didn't look very old, though it was chipped in a few places and had definitely seen better days. The body was decorated with a hand-painted rose, faded to pink from a once-vibrant shade of red and entwined with pale green vines.

Daryl grunted. "When'd ya go up to the attic?"

She shrugged and wrapped her other arm around the guitar, holding it close and continuing to smile. "I found the hatch while you were sleepin', so I figured I'd look around in case there were some extra supplies. But this was the only useful thing I found."

_So when do you sleep? _he wanted to ask.

"You know how ta play that, too?"

Her eyes lit up and she nodded. "'Course I do. Once you know the piano, you can learn just about any instrument. But this is a little more _fun_ than a piano."

He smirked and watched as she cradled the guitar in her arms and inspected it closer, brushing away stray bits of dust that she'd missed and absent-mindedly tracing her fingertips along the ornate design.

"'S a little _louder_, too," he muttered.

Her eyes flicked up and met his again, small hands grasping the guitar's neck tightly, almost protectively. Her smile faded. "I could play real quiet…"

The corner of his mouth tugged upward in an amused smirk despite the sensation of plummeting bricks within his gut. He was suddenly resisting the strong urge to stand up and embrace her. His muscles tensed in response.

"Go on an' play," he said decisively. "Too damn quiet these days anyhow. Fuckers could use some good music."

She giggled, teeth bore white and shiny as she grinned. "You talkin' about the Walkers or us?"

He shrugged, flashing a crooked half-smile. "Both."

"One an' the same, right?" She quipped.

He paused and swallowed hard, his mouth inexplicably going dry. "Nah - not really."

_Killin' them isn't supposed to be __**fun**__!_

"Play me somethin' good," he grunted, nestling his arm tighter over his forehead and closing his eyes. "That thing even close ta bein' in tune? Surprised it's still got strings."

He heard her soft giggle followed by her footsteps crossing the room and then the unmistakable sound of the small wooden chair that sat in the corner being moved closer to the couch and the fireplace.

"Might take me a minute to tune it, but the strings are still in good condition. Surprisingly," she said.

He opened his eyes just enough to catch a brief peek of Beth perched upon the seat, the glow of the fire settling over her as she rested the guitar in her lap and set her fingers into place. She was smiling, cheeks pink with warmth and elation. He shut his eyes and relaxed into the sofa, focusing in on every tiny sound that she made. The quick plucks of the guitar strings echoed off the walls as she tuned the instrument and tested each individual string multiple times. The pattern was close to creating an odd, off-beat song of its own before she finally strummed the strings altogether and seemed satisfied with her work.

Then she was strumming with purpose, forming chords that built into a familiar tune and sent shivers up his spine. He sunk further into the couch and focused on the music, pushing away the glimpses of locked-up memories that wanted to play in his head at the sound. He reminded himself that it was supposed to put him at ease; hearing her play was _supposed_ to bring him peace, not put all of his nerves on edge. But it was the same tune she'd been humming earlier, and it made his skin prickle unpleasantly.

He was about to open his mouth and request that she play something else but she stopped abruptly.

"That song keeps gettin' stuck in my head, but I can't remember the lyrics… isn't that weird?" She mused.

He opened his eyes and looked over at her. The music had paused and her delicate fingers were resting motionless over the strings. There was a contemplative, almost wistful look on her face and pooling in her eyes. He could see her hands itching to continue the song, hesitating with uncertainty.

All he could do was shrug listlessly. He should've known the answer to this conundrum - the song was so familiar, so… _there_ \- but he couldn't quite place it. It should've been right at the front of his mind, on the tip of his tongue. But it wasn't.

Then again, his brain hadn't been working like it was supposed to lately.

He mumbled back, "I can't remember it either…"

Her smile faltered and the confusion deepened within her features. It made Daryl's stomach turn and he fought not to look away or close his eyes.

He wondered if this was one of those moments where they simultaneously realized that the lives they'd known were slipping farther and farther away from them, growing smaller and smaller in the distance behind their long and arduous path. If maybe this was one of those shared realizations that they never discussed or brought attention to, yet still silently recognized. One of those things where they were both accepting the fact, little-by-little, that the world they'd loved was slipping further into oblivion with each passing day, and it was _never_ coming back. No matter how desperately they grasped at it, no matter how much they struggled to keep the most important bits alive and present and _with them_.

It all slipped away eventually. It all disappeared into the past, dying piece-by-piece with every person who succumbed to the new world order.

But then she blinked and shook her head, looking down at the guitar and repositioning her fingers. Her tone was more upbeat when she said, "I wrote that other song on guitar, too - the one I played on the piano yesterday. Unless you wanna hear somethin' else."

His chest was tight and his eyes were pricking with hot tears that had formed seemingly out of nowhere. He blinked them back quickly and cleared his throat, looking away to gaze up at the ceiling. His limbs were feather-light and he wasn't sure he could move if he tried.

He wanted to tell her that literally _anything_ would be better than the silence that constantly consumed them. He wanted to tell her that her music - her _voice_ \- was one of the very few reprieves he had from the haunting groans and confusing static that filled his head nearly every waking hour. He wanted to tell her to make it loud and nonstop, so he could tune everything else out and sink down into the safety of the little bubble they'd created within the abandoned house. He wanted to tell her that she was the voice, the song and the melody and the rhythm and the chorus, that he followed whenever he felt lost. And that he was feeling particularly _lost_ right now.

But he kept all of that to himself. And what came out was a grumbled, "Yeah - let's hear it."

His eyelids fell shut. He could hear the upwards tilt in her voice and the curve of her mouth as she chuckled softly.

Then the guitar came back to life and began to fill the small den with music, her chord-strumming growing together and forming a melodic rhythm that echoed through his head and stilled his racing heart. It untensed his clenched muscles and pushed out all of the conflicting images that had been repetitively flickering in the blacks of his eyelids. Seconds later, her voice flowed in and joined it and the notes seeped down through his pores until they were rushing through his bloodstream like adrenaline. He floated away on a cloud made up of her music, letting himself become submerged in every lyric that poured from her lips.

"_...I have pumped new blood into this heart for him to take, we're gonna move to California - to a house on a lake, and someday we will kiss, in front of family and friends…_"

All he could see was the dark obsidian of ink staining an eggshell-white page, curved and loopy handwriting that burned before his tightly-closed eyes as though it were imprinted upon his corneas. Words and paragraphs and tiny, curled letters. "_BG_." Black bleeding into white, spreading outward like cracked glass.

The music continued to play, filling his head until he could no longer decide whether it was coming from outside or inside the confines of his skull.

"_...all these clear-headed thoughts were once home to doubt, think I finally know what life is about. And it seems smooth sailing where the waters were rough, how the world looks different when you find yourself - in love. In love…_"

He'd heard it already, but not like _this_. He couldn't explain why his skin suddenly felt so burnt and raw or why his stomach was turning so painfully. He couldn't make sense of the tattered pages flashing before his closed eyes nor could he recognize them. Nothing he remembered matched up to the timeline of reality anymore; nothing he subconsciously envisioned ever fit in with the puzzle that he was living. The only stronghold he had was Beth. She was the only lighthouse amongst the dark sea of confusion he'd been sailing.

Yet even now, the comfort she offered was baffling him. It almost felt misguided, misdirected. It made him question whether he'd misinterpreted _everything_.

_Maybe,_ he thought,_ I really am losing my fucking mind. Maybe I have been this whole time._

He let the music fade out and the strings of the guitar grow still, their vibrations leaking forth and reverberating off every surface in the fire-lit den before slowly dissipating into nothingness. His spine tensed and his jaw clenched. Her voice anchored him back to earth, calming the quaking that had begun within him and returning him to the comfort of the warm room, the safe house, the quiet post-storm world.

"Better on the piano?" She spoke much softer and tentatively than she sang.

"Just as good," he rumbled, low and hoarse with his eyes still shut. "Ain't got much ta compare it to, though. Never heard ya play guitar till now."

She strummed a chord loudly in response, followed by a breath-stealing laugh.

"That's fair. You wanna hear somethin' else I wrote, or d'you got a request? Think I can still remember quite a few songs."

He grunted. Then he mumbled, "Just keep singin'."

Her voice was suddenly firm and serious. "Daryl."

His eyes reflexively popped open and he turned his head to look at her, finding an oceanic gaze that he hadn't been prepared to meet. Her fingers were still hovered over the strings of the guitar, hands paused meaningfully while her brows knit together.

"What?" He croaked out.

"It's gonna be our last night here," she said matter-of-factly. Her tone was flat and she was making uncomfortably intense eye contact. "We gotta make it worth our time. I have to make sure you're ready."

His heart skipped and he suddenly felt like he was shooting down into the couch and straight through the floor beneath him. He blinked and licked his lips, forcing his head to drift back down to reality. He wanted to believe that she was speaking logically, but it didn't _fit_.

Why was she so sure they'd be leaving tomorrow? Why was she so obsessed with time lately? What the hell did she think he needed to be _ready_ for? He wanted to make sense of it so _badly_.

"Wha' makes ya think that?" He countered. "I ain't goin' nowhere. We're ready fer _anything_."

She paused. "I guess I never thought it'd be like this. But at the same time, I kinda always _knew_ it would be."

His lips were glued shut and his voice was stuck somewhere deep within his chest. He blinked.

_Daryl, snap out of it!_

Her expression flickered and her features skipped in the hazy glow of firelight. Her tone changed and he was back to doubting his own ears - his own eyes. She was smiling and he was questioning whether the last few seconds had actually happened at all.

"Never really thought I'd get ta play any of these out loud when I wrote 'em," she explained light-heartedly, eagerly repositioning her fingers over the frets of the guitar. Her other hand strummed a tentative chord. "I haven't worked on this as much as the last one, so it's rough."

He grunted and swallowed back all the "huh"s and "what"s that wanted to slip out. Instead, he shut his eyes and leaned his head back into the cushion. He mumbled, "Jus' play."

And then her voice was filling his ears again, her soft playing and careful rhythm taking over everything around him. The music flowed outward and swept him away.

"_...Gimme what ya can, I'm the last pretty girl. You're the last decent man…_"

The lyrics were rattling his nerves and lingering deep within his muscles, like an itch that couldn't be scratched. Like a message written in a language he couldn't read. All he could do was lie there and listen while the war waged inside him.

"_...I've got broken heart pieces swimmin' in my bed, broken conversations floatin' in my head. A let-down little mermaid tryin' to find air at the top, pretty sure this spinnin' world's about to stop. So I cover up in glitter, head to the dance. Baby, this is our last chance…_"

Before the song ended, he'd decided he didn't _care_ if he was going crazy. Because at least Beth was going with him.

* * *

Daryl had fought hard not to drift off to sleep, even for the shortest amount of time. But he must have, at some point or another, because her music had lulled him into a nearly numb state of comfort and the last thing he remembered was closing his eyes and lingering on the vibrations that were emitting from the guitar. Time evaded his observance once again.

The next thing he knew, his eyes were fluttering open and staring upward at a dark ceiling, watching the weak flickers of a smoldering flame as it cast miniscule shadows across the white tiles. For a second, he thought about how they looked like tiny tentacles from several small octopi. Then he struggled to blink away the sleep from his eyes (it never seemed to clear, though - that haze constantly remained, like a layer plastered across his eyeballs) and turned his head weakly to look for Beth.

His gaze seeked her out and landed on a huddled form in front of the dying fire. She looked nothing more than a mass of blonde hair and gray cardigan and ripped jeans. But she must've felt his eyes on her because she turned and looked back at him over her shoulder, an expression of deep contemplation slowly fading from her face. She offered a weak smile before turning back to the fire.

"Y'okay?" He grumbled, rubbing his hand across his face and letting his arm fall away from his forehead to loll over the edge of the sofa.

"_Mmhmm_," she hummed back. "If you need ta sleep, keep sleepin'. I'll keep watch."

He grunted in disagreement and slowly sat up, rubbing the back of his neck and rolling his shoulders. He placed his socked feet on the floor and stretched out his stiff legs.

"Yeah, an' then I'll wake up with pneumonia. Ya gonna keep that fire from goin' out or not?" He teased.

She chuckled softly and his chest filled with fresh air despite his musty surroundings.

"I wouldn't let it go out," she said quietly.

"I know ya wouldn't."

He sat on the couch and watched as she stood and proceeded to stoke the fire and add new pieces of firewood, carefully feeding them to the flames until it was burning hot and bright once more. For the briefest second, he worried that the smoke rolling up through the chimney might give away their position and risk their safety. But then he reminded himself that they'd already been burning fires for days and creating smoke. And besides, who could see the cloud from their chimney out in all that rain and fog anyway? Anything living out there right now had to be taking shelter from the storm.

As though she were seeing into his head, Beth turned and her voice cut through his thoughts. Her curious blue eyes met his from where she stood a few feet away with her back to the blazing fire.

"I wanted to stay here. But I know now that we can't. It just… wouldn't be the same."

A knot was quickly forming in his throat and he wanted to ask, _Why?_ But he was too afraid of the answer, so he kept his mouth shut.

She paused, waiting for some kind of retort. Probably expecting a smartass or cynical comment. But when it didn't come, she continued somberly, "It can only be good in small spurts, it seems like. That's how the world's _always_ been - I know that. But now, it seems like… we gotta enjoy the good parts even more. 'Cause they don't come so often. And they don't last so long."

His tongue was slowly tracing his very dry lips as he stared at her, completely devoid of the ability to form a sentence. He was terrified that his paranoia would leak out if he dared to speak.

Her eyes flicked downward and she turned back toward the fire. "I wanted to make every second count. 'Cause who knows how much longer either of us has left."

_I'll be gone someday._

"Stop."

His voice escaped on its own will, gruff and grunted and briefly filling the small den with a flicker of tense static. He watched as she glanced back at him from over her shoulder, shadows cast across her face and distorting her features. He couldn't tell if she was smiling or crying.

"It ain't up to us, Daryl. _None_ of it."

"Some of it is," he said simply.

There was a beat. Then he heard the faintest sound over the crackling fire - either a soft chuckle or a stifled sob. Or maybe it was an odd mixture of both.

She was gazing at the flames, watching them lick upwards towards a sky they would never reach.

"Yeah. _Some_ of it is…"

_Some is better than none,_ he thought.

"Wouldn'ta got this far if it weren't fer you," he said honestly. "Wouldn'ta got very far at all. Wouldn't've _wanted_ to."

She didn't look back at him this time but he could see her shoulders slumping. Standing in front of the fire with his words lingering around her, she almost looked _defeated_.

He thought it would make him feel better to admit that to her, but now he just felt shittier. Like he'd added a new weight to the heavy load she already carried on her back. In a way, he understood it. But at the same time, absolutely _none_ of it made sense. And he wasn't sure it ever would.

There was a bright, flickering flash of lightning outside. It momentarily lit up the inside of the house and Daryl blinked long and slow until it was over. He didn't like the unsettling light that it cast over everything. He didn't like the way Beth appeared faded, as though the color of her entire self were slowly bleeding out into her environment.

The song she'd played earlier inexplicably popped into his head: "_Baby, this is our last chance..._"

_Why won't you pay attention, Daryl?_

He stared down at his lap and spoke decisively, "I'll go check the car tomorrow. I'll get us ready fer whatever's next. I _promise_."

She finally turned away from the fire and faced him, and a weak smile curled her lips upward. Her voice was soft, echoing the defeat that shone in her body language. "I know you will."

Her eyes fluttered closed and she breathed out a long sigh. "I'm so tired."

He was standing to his feet before she'd opened her eyes again, approaching tentatively and offering his upturned hand. "C'mon, let's get you some sleep - in a _real_ bed."

Her eyebrows raised and she glanced down at his hand curiously. "You're gonna come with me?"

Big blue eyes full of hope stared up at him expectantly, and her expression teetered on the thin line between elation and disappointment. He smirked and nodded.

"'Course I am. Let's go."

She placed a small hand in his and he grasped it, turning and leading the way toward the stairs. They paused in the doorway when she tugged him back.

"We need ta put that fire out," she reminded him.

"I'll take care of it once ya fall asleep," he reassured her. "Don't'cha trust me, Greene?"

She smiled and squeezed his hand. "'Course I do."

* * *

"_Daryl…_"

Her soft voice reached him and pulled him back from the very edge of unconsciousness. But he only had the energy to tighten his arms around her small form in response, and then sleep was rapidly pulling him downward again.

"Daryl, you said you'd put out the fire. Yer gonna fall asleep before I do."

He finally managed to hum back in acknowledgment and escape sleep's tempting grip. His eyes opened heavily and he took in the darkened surroundings, finding it difficult to loosen his grasp around Beth's body. She was so warm and comforting against his relaxed muscles and it was all too easy to let his eyes fall shut again. It was too easy to drift off to a place of peace and solace while holding her against him amongst the pillowy embrace of the bed they were sharing.

"You promised you'd go check the car tomorrow. You _promised_."

His eyes popped wide open at that and he withdrew his arms, sitting up and turning away from her. He sighed and ran a tired hand through his hair. Had she actually said it or had he been half-dreaming while teetering on the edge of sleep? He couldn't tell and he didn't want to ask her to repeat herself. He cleared his throat and avoided turning and looking at her face.

Her voice reached him again, just as soft as when he'd been holding her, "Just put the fire out an' come back to bed… It'll make me feel better."

He nodded and stood up, stealing a glance back at her before shoving the dresser away from the door and stepping out into the hallway. The image of her pale and pink complexion bathed in moonlight flickered behind his eyes and plastered itself to the inside of his skull and he could think of nothing else but the thin undershirt and thermal underwear she'd stripped down to - the only barrier between her soft warm skin and his layers of clothing when they were pressed so close together. He could still feel her weight in his arms and against his chest like a phantom of her presence as he descended the stairs and cautiously entered the den, following the orange-red light of the dying fire.

Daryl Dixon had never been afraid of the dark. Hell, he'd practically grown up in it. All the nights he spent alone out in the woods as a kid or all on his own in the emptiness of his and Merle's trailer as an adult - he was plenty comfortable with darkness. Yet as soon as he'd smothered the last of the embers in the fireplace and extinguished all traces of light, a shiver ran down his spine and the hairs on the back of his neck stood up. He was overtaken by an urgent _need_ to get back up the stairs as quickly as he possibly could. To get back to Beth.

The shadows looming around him in the den were suddenly ominous and foreboding. He was seeing things in the darkness that weren't really there: a bloody cardigan bunched up on the couch, a broken guitar lying in the corner, a half-empty bottle of diet soda sitting on the rug. Or _were_ they really there? He wanted to believe they were nothing more than obscure shapes formed from shadows. More than anything, he wanted to _leave_. He suddenly couldn't stand being in this room for one more second.

But before he could take two full strides toward the door, the static was filling his head. It returned with a vengeance. It was invading his ears and scrambling his memory, his awareness, his ability to comprehend anything that was _real_.

"_...Gorman, do you copy?!_"

Daryl froze and looked around wildly, eyes wide and searching through the darkness for an answer. But he already knew there was none to be had.

Before the static had a chance to conjure more ghostly voices, he was racing out of the den and toward the staircase, then he was taking the stairs two at a time until he reached the landing. All he could think was, _Beth Beth Beth, I just need to get back to Beth and I'll feel better._ He was breathless by the time he made it back to the bedroom, but he didn't pause to rest until he had the door shut tight and the dresser securely barricaded against it.

He still didn't know what he'd been running from.

To his enormous relief, he turned and found Beth lying exactly where he'd left her. She was giving him a quizzical look and her skin glowed with a yellowish tint in the light of half-a-dozen candles. He couldn't remember if they'd lit those candles earlier or if she'd lit them while he was downstairs but it didn't feel like an important issue at the moment.

The static was receding from his hearing and within seconds, he could barely recall what had happened. Why had he been in such a rush to get back up here? Why was he so eager to secure the door and return to Beth's side?

_We have to snap out of it soon, Daryl..._

Oh, _that's_ right - he was _tired_. Really tired. His legs ached and his arms burned with overexertion. He needed to lie down. He knew that if he could just lay down next to Beth and hold her against him, then he could remember why he felt so tired and why his body felt so sore. It would all make sense once they were close together again. That was the only thing he knew for sure anymore.

She watched him silently with wide cerulean eyes that glittered in the candlelight and followed his every movement. But she didn't speak, not even when he took his boots off or when he unsheathed the knives from his belt and lay them on the small table beside the bed. He almost expected a teasing comment about who would be keeping watch, but it never came. She merely hummed with contentment when he wrapped his arms around her and nuzzled his face into the crook of her neck.

And then her legs were intertwined with his and she was pulling the blanket up over them both, and Daryl's instincts were telling him to get up and run because he was too vulnerable; this felt _too_ right, too comfortable, too… _normal_.

But he couldn't. And he didn't want to either. Beth was warm and inviting and her small hands were gripping his arms and clutching him even tighter than he could've imagined.

He saw flickers of candlelight against the walls from the periphery of his vision when he dared to open his eyes. All he wanted was a glimpse, maybe nothing more than a second of reassurance to tell himself that this was real and not a dream, that he was living -_ actually living_ for once in his God forsaken life. And he saw the melting sticks of wax against the evolving shadows across the walls, the curves and lumps beneath the blanket that were his and Beth's bodies entwined into one, the soft gold of her hair and… the bright blue of her eyes. Vast, never-ending oceans catching him unawares, their waves lapping at his soul and pulling him into their current.

She was looking back at him while pressing her back tighter against his front, and he thought he might've seen the hint of a smirk playing on her lips in the dim light from the candles. He couldn't be sure, though. He couldn't be sure of _anything_ anymore. His mind was always playing tricks on him. Reality had been askew ever since he'd begun looking at Beth with a new recognition. He couldn't even reassure himself that _this_ was reality. For all he knew, he was so sleep-deprived that he was hallucinating. Or maybe he'd fallen asleep again and this was nothing more than a weird lucid dream.

But he _knew_ it wasn't. She felt too real, looked too real, smelled too real. He knew she was there with him, in his arms, pressed against his body, breathing softly and warming him from the inside out. Staring at him and right through him all at the same time. He also knew that he couldn't have pulled away even if he possessed the energy to do such a thing.

His eyelids fluttered shut and he reveled in the sensation of her hair tickling his neck and cheek, the sound of her soft breathing, the beating of her heart through her back. (Or was that his own heartbeat reverberating through his chest?) He couldn't tell so he squeezed her a little tighter. Her small hands were warm, almost hot, and they grasped his forearms firmly. He was convinced he might float away entirely if she weren't anchoring him down. His eyelids slowly lifted. His mouth was suddenly dry and he was no longer anywhere close to _sleepy_. He couldn't tear his gaze away from hers. He couldn't stop watching the candle's flames reflecting in her sapphire eyes, dancing and flickering and sending heat straight down to his very core.

Daryl should've been awkward in this moment. His nerves should've been bouncing and crawling beneath his skin and he shouldn't have been able to so much as _breathe_ let alone speak. He should've felt violated by her intense gaze, he shouldn't have been able to meet it with his own.

Yet it all felt oddly comforting. And… _right_. And he was beginning to think that, maybe, this was where he belonged.

_So you __**do**__ think there are still good people around._

Her lips parted and he could see the words forming on her tongue. But before they could roll out, he was speaking first. He barely recognized his own voice, soft and low, his mouth so close to her ear that he could smell nothing else besides her hair.

"Don't say it. I already know - I gotta go check the car in the mornin'. I'll do it. I will."

Her lips fell into a slight frown and she paused, a flicker of disappointment amidst the flames in her eyes. Her voice was softer than he'd ever heard it when she whispered back, "You will. But I only want you to do it if you're ready."

_Ready for what?_ He thought. _Ready to leave? To put both our lives at risk again and hit the open road with no direction and no living family to hope for, no end in sight?_

He didn't say that, though. What he said was, "I'm ready fer anything… 's long as _you're_ ready for it."

There was a beat. He watched long black eyelashes flutter against pink-tinted cheeks and then a wash of bursting sapphire that swept him out to sea. His heart skipped a beat or three. She barely parted her lips, turning her face until they were mere inches apart.

"I was ready ta stay here with you _forever_, Daryl Dixon," she whispered. Hearing his name was like a fleeting summer breeze, but her breath felt like a blistering winter wind ghosting across his cheek. "I really was... And I wish I could've."

He was about to ask what she meant, why she was so adamant about leaving. Was it because of the ghosts that lived in the funeral home? The dead cops and the unseen presence that constantly hovered over them of what she'd done - what _they'd_ done - to survive? Had the peaceful little funeral home become nothing more than another farmhouse, another prison, another moonshine shack, another place they had to escape and leave behind to let burn in their wake along with all its phantom inhabitants? Or…

But then she was kissing him. She'd closed the miniscule distance between them effortlessly, barely leaning her head forward to meet his waiting lips. He hadn't been expecting it and as soon as he felt the damp warmth against his mouth, his eyes reflexively closed and his mind went blank. Any train of thought he might've been entertaining rolled far away and disappeared into the distance, leaving Daryl with nothing but a head full of emotional exclamation points.

For the briefest second, he froze. Then he was kissing her back and tasting her familiar sweetness on his lips and on his tongue, simultaneously reliving those fleeting moments out in the yard and down in the den, wondering how it was possible that she somehow felt softer and tasted even sweeter this time. She felt _closer_, too - then he quickly realized that she'd rolled over to face him beneath the blanket, pressing their chests flush together and wrapping her arms around his shoulders. His own arms found their way around her waist, urging her closer, holding her as tightly as he dared. She was warm and getting warmer, and her breath was hot on his upper lip. But he could feel her heart racing in time with his. And his head was full of air and rushing blood, his ears full of the sound of Beth's breathing and their soft kissing, his chest full of a weightlessness - an _emotion_ \- that he couldn't quite comprehend.

When they parted for air, he couldn't bring himself to lift his eyelids and meet the intense gaze that he knew was set on him. Instead, he slipped his hands beneath the hem of her undershirt and pressed his palms against her hot lower back, grasping handfuls of flesh and urging her impossibly closer.

He felt her breath on his lips before her voice filled his ears. "What we were searchin' for… we never stood a _chance_ of finding it here."

Then he felt her delicate fingers digging into the flesh of his shoulders and she was pressing herself harder against him as though she were trying to meld their separate bodies into one being. As though she thought he might get up and leave at any moment. He still wouldn't open his eyes as he leaned forward and pressed his mouth to hers with more fervor than before.

"I think I was searchin' fer you," he heard himself mumbling against her parted lips, spilling from somewhere deep within him like molten lead. "It was _you_ the whole damn time."

_What changed your mind…?_

Her only response was to kiss him harder, to grasp his shoulders tighter, to drink him in like water in a desert. And he found that to be answer enough, and maybe even what he'd been hoping for, because he kissed her back again and slid his hands higher up her bare skin to take in every inch of _Beth_ that he possibly could. He had to remind himself to breathe as their tongues merged and their teeth clicked together. He thought he could feel her smiling against his mouth but he was too afraid to check, afraid that if he opened his eyes, the whole thing might disappear into a puff of smoke or wistful fog.

It didn't, though. When he dared to lift his eyelids just the slightest bit, all he could see was her glowing skin and sunlight hair, the corners of her satin lips curled into a smile as they moved against his own. And her eyes were shut but she must've sensed him sneaking a peek because he felt her delicate fingers sliding down and seeking out the bare flesh beneath his shirt. He trembled at her cool hands on his warm back, at the thought of what she might find if she were to explore every inch of his unguarded body. He feared that she would turn away in disgust.

But she kept surprising him. It was like being mentally knocked backward every time he tried to guess what she might do next, what she might say next, how she might react. Every moment and every new experience was yet another learning curve. His blood was rushing so fast through his veins that his head was starting to spin and he could no longer remember _why_ he'd let those words spill out… why he'd allowed himself to bare so much to her. Why it suddenly felt so simple and easy.

What if she didn't _want_ any of that? What if she hadn't _ever_ wanted it? He couldn't give her what she deserved - that much he knew for a fact.

But that wouldn't stop him from trying.

She began to pull away from him and his heart skipped, but then he realized that she was simply allowing room for her hands to fumble with the buttons of his shirt. And he didn't move to stop her. Daryl kissed her a little harder, nibbled on her bottom lip and drank in the breathy squeak that escaped her mouth at the sensation. A few seconds later, she was sliding off his vest and shirt and pulling him close again, urging him tightly against her, and he was wondering when she'd gotten so _strong_. She was tiny - even tinier in his arms - but he found himself completely defenseless and broken to her will. He felt weak and helpless and, at this very moment, he was almost certain he would crumble into pieces and die if he stopped touching her, stopped kissing her, stopped holding her so close against him. He wasn't even sure he could remember how to _breathe_ without her anymore.

He shuddered when her fingertips grazed the scars on his back. Reflexively, he jerked back an inch and broke their kiss and her eyelids fluttered open to stare up at him expectantly.

He started, "You don't - "

She cut him off with a deep kiss and when she eventually pulled back, she placed her palm flat against his back and over the raised skin. "_Shh_, these bodies won't matter one day," she whispered. "Just for tonight..."

He wanted to ask what that meant. But he didn't. A part of him already understood. The candlelight gave her an ethereal glow that reassured him and quieted any argument that might've risen from his throat. He thought of what he'd wanted to say that night at the table and how his fear had kept him quiet.

Fear had kept him running silently for so long. Fear had kept him hiding away from anything palpable or meaningful. And he didn't _want _to hide anymore. Not from Beth. He didn't want to _run_ anymore.

Not unless she was running with him.

This time, however, words would only ruin it. So he swallowed them all back, right along with the fear that threatened to freeze him and ruin another once-in-a-lifetime chance... and he kissed her. Fully, openly, unabashed.

Then she was pressing her chest to his again and running her fingertips across his long scars, and he was kissing her more voraciously than before, her words still ringing in his ears and echoing with the thumping of his own heart. He could feel her small breasts and hardened nipples through the thin cotton of her undershirt, and with every slight movement of her legs beneath the blankets she would brush her thigh across his overly-sensitive groin. Any blood he might've had to spare from his brain was rushing straight down to the growing erection in his pants.

For a moment, he couldn't focus on her mouth because he was too worried about the bulge between his legs, afraid she would pull back in repulsion if she noticed it. He stifled the quiet groans that wanted to escape and nibbled on her lower lip, drinking in her sweetness and reveling in the softness of every inch of her warm, bare skin. He never wanted to stop kissing her. But each time her breath picked up or her fingers trailed across his back and his shoulders, the heat went traveling rapidly downward and before long, his cock had become achingly hard. He didn't stop her thigh from grazing against it, though he didn't push himself any closer - he hoped it would go away and that she wouldn't notice it. He couldn't bear to ruin this moment. His chest was swelling to the point of bursting with an intense combination of lightness and fullness that he couldn't remember ever experiencing before in his life, and her soft sounds and gentle hands were only feeding it, filling it and enlarging it until he wasn't sure how his heart was still operating amongst it all.

One of her delicate hands found the back of his head and then her fingers were tangling in his unruly hair, her nails digging into his scalp. Her mouth worked against his hungrily and he was completely bent to her will. By the time her thigh was rubbing purposefully against his aching cock, teasing him through his pants, he accepted the fact that she knew _exactly_ what she was doing and was very possibly doing it intentionally. Though that realization didn't stop him from being self-conscious and as badly as he wanted to trace his lips across every single curve and dip and indentation of her body, he knew he had no right.

He didn't deserve this - he didn't deserve _Beth_. She was young and pure and perfect and what was he? A dirty old redneck with an anger problem and a knack for ruining any good thing that ever came his way.

Yet when she broke away and he opened his eyes and found her yawning black pupils staring at him through the dim candle glow, all of those thoughts that had followed him throughout his whole life melted away like hot wax. She must've felt the stiffness in his muscles, the hesitation in his movements, the trepidation in his touch. Reflexively, he wanted to apologize. He felt horribly guilty for being such a pervert.

"'M sorry," he choked out past swollen lips.

She smirked and blinked, then gave a light shake of her head. "Don't be. You haven't done anything wrong, Daryl."

He wanted to argue but he couldn't. He kept waiting for the disgust, the apprehension, the total regret. Yet none of that came. She simply closed the distance between them once more and kissed him, soft and reassuring. He was still trying to convince himself this wasn't some insane lucid dream.

She'd told him he was a good man. But he'd never imagined he could be _this_ good of a man; not good _enough_, anyway. Had she really meant it? She'd certainly _sounded_ genuine. What choice did he have but to believe her?

And now she was pushing herself so tightly against him, urging her body closer to his and brushing one thigh against the aching bulge in his pants with intent, kissing him hard and exploring his mouth passionately. He didn't notice her hand had left his back until it was grasping his and guiding it downward, directing him to snake his fingers under the waistband of her longjohns. This time, he did not hesitate.

He wanted to touch her. He wanted to touch her so _fucking _badly, more than he'd ever wanted anything in his life. He wanted to explore every inch of her and memorize it like a map. So when she pushed her hips against him and urged his hand down, down, down… he happily obliged. He tried his hardest not to seem too eager or move too aggressively, but the warmth from between her legs teased his fingers and his cock twitched with another agonizing ache of primal need. He barely had time to enjoy the feeling of her soft curls against his palm before he was blindly following the heat, finding the warm moisture he'd been carefully groping for.

She pressed her mouth harder against his and he felt a quiet moan vibrate on his lips, assuring him he was heading in the correct direction. He let a groan escape his throat, his other hand grasping her hot lower back, her legs slowly spreading wider to allow his further exploration.

He hesitated for a split-second with his fingertips hovering just above her damp lips, unsure of whether his rough and calloused hand was worthy of touching her in such a way. And she paused their kissing just long enough to raggedly breathe out, "_Please_ touch me."

His dick gave another torturous twitch inside his pants and he could feel the precome forming a small spot in his boxers, her licentious voice sending chills throughout his whole body. But it was all the affirmation he needed.

He pressed the pads of two fingers down upon the hood of her clit and swallowed back a shudder, kissing her harder. She didn't hold back her own shudder though, and the way he could feel her desire throbbing beneath his fingertips was making his cock leak incessantly, so hard that he thought he might burst from the burning need gathering below his stomach.

He'd never touched a woman like this, he'd never moved so slowly and taken his time like this; he'd never felt so utterly consumed in the flames of lust at the prospect of pleasing someone else. It had always been about himself and his own pleasure, but at this moment he could've probably forgotten about the hard-on between his legs if it weren't so painful. He was enthralled with Beth, with the way her breathing quickened at his touch and her mouth desperately drank him in, with the way her hips bucked up into his hand and her body begged him for more, with the saccharine taste of her tongue and the delicious heat emanating from between her thighs.

He trailed his fingers down and gently explored her lips and folds, returning to her clit every couple of seconds to rub it and feel it throbbing beneath his thumb. She trembled at the light pressure so he increased it until she was consistently shuddering against him and her mouth became ravenously desperate on his. He nibbled on her lower lip and trailed a finger down to the wettest part of her, pressing his thumb to her clit and alternating between clockwise and counterclockwise motions, swallowing every little moan and squeak that rose from her throat.

Daryl subconsciously held his breath as he teased her hot, moist entrance with the tip of his index finger, simultaneously continuing his steady stimulation of the pulsing mound at the peak of her wetness. When she gave a compulsive buck of her hips into his hand, he slipped his finger inside of her effortlessly. She was almost burning hot and completely soaking wet, and as soon as he slid further in and curled his finger, her walls fluttered and constricted around him and she moaned into his mouth. He finally let out the breath he'd been holding and kissed her harder, barely aware of the incessant twitching between his legs. All he could focus on was the blood racing through his veins at lightning speed, the rush of sticky juices soaking his finger and leaking down into his palm, the inexplicably satisfying sounds that were escaping Beth's throat and the way she writhed beneath his touch and silently willed him deeper.

He kept the pressure of his thumb on her swollen clit, and just as he was easing a second finger deep inside the pulsating walls of her cunt, he felt one of her hands sneaking in between their bodies to grasp his bulge. A groan poured out of his mouth and he squeezed his eyes shut even tighter as a jolt of ecstasy shot through his muscles. Every single one of his nerves was on fire.

And it was the most incredible sensation he could _ever_ remember experiencing.

As he continued the movements of his fingers both against her clit and within her walls, he could tell that her release was quickly mounting toward its peak. He gauged her reactions and let her body lead him to the sweetest spot inside of her pussy, and after only a few minutes her breaths were turning to pants and their mouths had broken apart to gasp raggedly against one another, her hand still grasping his hard cock through his pants and threatening to make him burst any second. But he was too focused on her to think about himself or his own release - all he cared about was hearing more of her moans and watching through heavy-lidded eyes as her lips parted and formed silent _O_s of ecstasy and her eyelids fluttered and her face flushed red and white and red again.

He thought he might've felt it coming before she did: her walls clenched around his fingers and a pressure was suddenly beginning to push back from where his fingertips had been consistently massaging. And a split-second later, her entire body was freezing and all the sounds hitched inside her throat. He didn't stop, though. He simply pushed back against the resistance with his two fingers and continued the rhythm of his thumb on her clit. Then the dam inside her was bursting and her hand on his bulge had gone lax and forgotten as a harsh shudder ran its course through every one of her muscles. He felt her coming onto his fingers and into his hand, heard the desperate gasp as her orgasm ran its course. Her head tilted back and after several long seconds of light spasms and a surprising amount of juices coating his fingers, she was relaxing and shivering with deep relief.

He didn't have the chance to plan his next move or to revel too long in the aftershock of Beth's climax. He'd barely begun to withdraw his fingers when she distracted him by giving his covered cock a firm and meaningful squeeze and the next thing he knew, she was pushing him over onto his back and yanking down her longjohns and the panties underneath. He didn't even have time to steal a glance at the shadowy area between her legs that he'd blindly explored before she was straddling him and unbuttoning his jeans to pull them down, and he quickly helped by sliding down his own longjohns as well as his boxers and pushing all the bunched-up clothing the rest of the way down his legs and off his feet. He barely heard the light thump of his pants hitting the floor over the sound of Beth's breathing and her wet mouth finding his for another round of ravenous kissing.

During a fleeting moment of self-doubt, Daryl wondered when it had come to this. Was everything before all leading up to this inevitable moment? Was there something they felt for one another that could only be expressed in the most intimate way? Sex had never felt particularly intimate to him, but with Beth _everything_ felt intimate. Every hand-hold, every hug, every heated argument and soft-spoken conversation and lingering gaze; it had all been building up to something greater, something larger and all-encompassing that he'd never experienced before, something that he never could've fathomed when he'd first met stupid little Beth Greene so long ago. She'd grown into someone he cared about, someone he would die for… and he'd grown into someone who _cared_, someone who _would_ die for her. And everything they'd done together, everything they'd gone through together, everything they'd suffered for - it had all been leading them to this moment. Because, in all honesty, this didn't feel any more intimate to Daryl than it had when he'd been staring across a candelit table into her expectant eyes with a jumble of words building and dissipating on his tongue. If anything, it was just a different _type_ of intimacy for them.

He couldn't help but think that it had been destined. In this moment, as he watched Beth's petite frame climb atop his broad body and straddle him, as he gazed up into her lust-blown black pupils and watched the glow reflecting back at him from pools of cerulean, he knew that this was _exactly_ where he was supposed to be. It was exactly where _they_ were supposed to be. He thought about how he would've traded every goddamn thing he'd ever known just to have this… this, right here, _forever_.

The wet heat between her legs was pressed dangerously close to his stiff cock. She was leaning down and wrapping her arms around his neck, softly kissing him while he let his eyelids fall shut. His hands slid across her knees, up her warm outer thighs, stopping at her hips and grasping them firmly. He could feel her hard nipples brushing against his chest through the thin cotton of her shirt, sending more blood rushing down to his already gruelling erection. She was radiating warmth like a furnace at this point, hot to the touch with tiny beads of perspiration forming along her neck and chest, and when he barely lifted his heavy lids to steal a peek, he could see her skin glistening in the candlelight. He took in a deep breath of her heady scent, let the chills run their course through all his limbs from each teasing kiss she planted on his lips and across his cheeks and down his neck. He fought back the urge to buck his hips upward, to gain friction from the warmth that was so close yet so agonizingly far away from his throbbing cock.

Then she pushed her hips just the slightest bit forward, allowing her swollen clit and damp lips to graze against his shaft. He shuddered with anticipation and squeezed her hips, finding her mouth with his and capturing it in a hungry kiss. He bit down on her lower lip and gave her hips another tight squeeze with both hands, gently urging her wetness against his achingly hard dick once more and intentionally dragging her clit across the veiny skin. She moaned into his mouth and his cock twitched in reaction, another droplet of precome leaking over the tip.

One of her arms slipped out from beneath his neck and snaked down to grasp one of his hands, then she carefully guided it away from her hip and over to the swollen peak of her labia. He took the hint and pressed his fingers against her clit, rubbing it like he'd been doing a short time ago and causing her muscles to flex and twitch around him. She pressed her soaking cunt against the shaft of his cock again and he kissed her roughly to stifle the moan that wanted to escape from his mouth. He could feel her smiling against his lips, mischievous and satisfied at the same time. When he let his eyes close all the way, he could see stars and flashes of rainbow light to accompany the cloud-like floating sensation inside his lungs.

For the first time all night, he was one-hundred percent certain that he wasn't dreaming. He'd _never_ been able to conjure such a feeling within himself, not even in his most extravagant and fantastical dreams. Everything he was experiencing was because of Beth.

It was all Beth. It had _always_ been all Beth. And he finally understood that.

When the pressure of his fingers on her pulsing clit and the friction of rubbing herself up and down the shaft of his dick was no longer sufficient, she began to lift up and move to position his weeping cockhead at her entrance. But he paused his movement and gripped her hip firmly, stopping her.

"What're you doin'?" He rasped out, precariously lifting his eyelids to find her staring down at him. He hadn't thought about the words - they'd just slipped off his tongue. It wasn't what he'd meant to say and definitely not at all what he'd actually been thinking.

Nonetheless, she froze and asked him softly, "Is this what you want?" Her breath was hot on his lips. Her long hair hung down around her face and tickled his neck and chest.

He blinked long and slow. Then his response poured outward with bare honesty, no louder than an exhale: "I want everything that you want… nothin' else."

To his surprise, she smiled and kissed him again. His head was back to swimming and his grasp on her hip willingly loosened, and then she was continuing what she'd started and guiding the leaking head of his cock to her wet and tender cunt. His back stiffened and his breath hitched as she reached a hand down and wrapped her fingers around his shaft, but he was quickly distracted by the toe-curling sensation of his cockhead popping through the swollen slit of her waiting pussy. He tried to hold back the deep groan that immediately formed in his throat but it was impossible.

Beth kissed him harder and drank in every sound and breathy gasp he made as her tight walls consumed his dick inch-by-inch, slipping down and down his shaft and enveloping him completely. He hadn't thought it possible but his cock throbbed harder, threatening to burst at any second. He used every last ounce of self-control he possessed to prolong the inevitable, even though the back of his eyelids were sparkling with bright stars and a very familiar yet long-forgotten tingling was beginning to form deep below his gut. His fingers dug into the fleshiest part of her hip and he resisted the urge to thrust up into her until her perfectly tight cunt had swallowed every last bit of his thick and veiny cock.

Then her small hands were pressed down atop his chest and her toned legs were straddling him like a well-broken horse and his fingers were rubbing her pulsating clit fervently. Her lips trembled against his and she tried to kiss him but she was too distracted by the engorged dick pushing up inside of her and sending spasms through her thighs. He couldn't help but grin against her mouth, nibbling playfully at her bottom lip while she rocked back and forth on top of him, urging him deeper and deeper, moving slowly and leisurely. Their bodies became one, connected and synchronized and experiencing the same spine-tingling sensations together.

Daryl squeezed his eyes shut and thrust up into Beth repeatedly, relishing in the ecstasy every time she lingered just above his shaft or clenched her fluttering walls tightly around his cock. He was nothing more than a player in the game she was currently directing, following every movement she made and happily allowing her to take the lead. He barely had sense enough to focus on anything more than the sticky wetness that enveloped his throbbing dick, the alternating constrictions of her tight walls, the juices dribbling out and leaking across his balls, the absolute euphoria of her hot skin and her wet pulsing clit and her desperate, breathless panting. The flesh grasped in his hand was perspiring just like the rest of her and becoming slick against his palm - but then he realized that his palms were sweaty too, as was the rest of him. The blankets had been kicked aside and bunched up into a ball beside them on the bed and now he was wondering if the candles were producing too much heat. Yet Beth kept riding him, kept lifting herself and lowering herself and rocking her hips into his and leaning down to fervently kiss him before squealing and gasping for breath, her pace gradually picking up. And he was thankful for the candles because otherwise, he wouldn't have been able to see her squirming so gloriously atop him.

He relished every moment, sometimes forgetting to breathe because he was too busy concentrating on the pressure around his cock, the wetness, the absolute _ecstasy_ that rushed through his veins and tensed his muscles. He probably could've shut his eyes and gone motionless and let himself come at the mere _thought_ of her on his dick.

He finally let go of her hip and reached his hand up to grasp her small mound of a breast in his palm, teasing her peaked nipple through the thin fabric of her shirt. She broke away from his lips and threw her head back and her spine arched above him, her hips digging down and her cunt swallowing him deeper. He could feel himself bottoming out inside her and he groaned loudly, fingers digging into the soft flesh of her breast. When he regained his senses a half-second later, he pinched her nipple between his fingers in time with the circular motions that his other fingers were still making on her clit and he was rewarded with a delicious bucking of her hips down against his. Their sweaty skin slapped together and made an unmistakable sound that echoed off the walls of the small bedroom. It was immediately followed by a high-pitched keening from Beth's mouth.

Her voice already sent unavoidable vibrations through his chest and lungs, but this time it was a hundred times more intense. With her small, strong hands pressed flat against his broad pectorals, her tiny and narrow hips bucking down and into his wide and awkwardly square frame, her thin but toned young legs caging in his time-hardened and age-worn body… he was absolutely defenseless in every sense of the word. He'd never been so vulnerable and weak and utterly broken to the will of another. Let alone a little blonde girl who liked to sing and was capable of killing a Walker with a wine bottle. Hearing his name emit from her mouth was like a drug in itself.

He opened his eyes just in time to see her pink and perfect lips forming the word, to see her eyelids slamming shut and every muscle in her body tensing up and freezing: "..._Daryl_!"

In the same moment, he felt her fingernails dig into the flesh of his chest and her thighs clench tightly around him. And that resistance deep inside her cunt that had pushed back against his fingers so many moments ago - he could feel that, too. Except now it was pressing against the head of his cock and surrounding his bulging shaft, threatening to expel him altogether. He thrust up deeper despite it and earned another delicious moan from her gaping mouth. He could feel her coming and he was reveling in the way her orgasm completely soaked every bit of his cock that was inside her. He'd never felt something so perfect in all his years of having sex.

Daryl could no longer put off his own climax. He'd managed to stifle it and prolong it for as long as was physically possible, but seeing the way Beth's orgasm wracked through her body and left her trembling with his cock still rock-hard inside her had been more than enough to send him rapidly plummeting over the edge. The tightness that had been gradually building below his gut reached its boiling point and exploded, sending electric shocks through all his limbs. The molten lava that had been swelling his cock to the point of bursting finally escaped and shot outward, filling her cunt with several long spurts of hot come.

Her name poured off his tongue and out into the air in a desperate, ecstasy-laden cry: "_Beth…_!"

His eyes slammed shut and his body stiffened, one hand frozen still clamping her pert little breast and the other left motionless on her clit. His back reflexively arched and he gave one last willful thrust upward, his hips bucking toward hers and jerking him forward. His thighs cramped up but quickly became nonexistent, as did the rest of himself. Those stars reformed and multiplied by the dozens in the blacks of his eyelids and his head was swimming with a mixture of adrenaline and elation.

Every last ounce he had to offer was drained out through the head of his cock. Her contracting walls seemed to be milking him for all he had, fluttering incessantly while he came, her body shuddering against his as though she were experiencing another orgasm right along with him. He didn't stop grasping her breast until his dick began to soften inside her and the aftershocks of their climaxes had run their course.

Seconds, or minutes (or maybe it was hours?) passed before either of them budged. His wilting cock twitched inside her tender cunt but they merely shivered at the sensation and continued lying there - her head on his chest and her feather-light body completely lax atop his. Finally she lifted up and he removed himself and she plopped down to lie beside him, pressed close against his side.

They lay together in silence. And when she wrapped her arm around his middle, he didn't hesitate to pull her in and hold her closer. An odd feeling was swelling inside his chest again, but it wasn't lightness this time. It was more like the heavy weight of unshed tears and unspoken words.

He didn't know why it was suddenly there so he ignored it and swallowed down the thick knot in his throat.

He kept his eyes shut, though the flicker of candlelight was still visible through his eyelids. He listened to Beth's breathing and focused on the lulling sound, trying to match it with his own.

And his heart steadied and his pulse slowed and for the first time in several days, Daryl felt clear-headed. There was no static or fog or haunting voices or taunting thoughts. There was only Beth and the bed and the quiet little funeral home. And for the first time in a _very_ long time, he felt truly satisfied, truly at peace.

He felt… _content_.

_Why can't you pay attention, Daryl?_

* * *

Unfortunately, Daryl's clear-headedness lasted only briefly and ended up being not much more than another fleeting moment of clarity. Beth's motionless form beside him continued to keep him anchored, though. He wasn't entirely certain that he wouldn't float up and off the bed and into the sky at any given moment if she weren't lying there with her arm around his middle and her head on his chest.

He teetered precariously on the edge of unconsciousness, not yet willing to give in and fall asleep. A part of him wanted to make the night last as long as possible. But he knew he wouldn't be able to stay awake much longer if he kept focusing on Beth's steady breathing. He thought she must've already been asleep.

Then she stirred against him and a few seconds later, a strange sound was filling his ears and drowning out her soft breaths. He quickly realized it was humming - _she_ was humming. Quietly but growing slightly louder as she began to hum out an eerily familiar tune. His eyelids fluttered open and he fought to lift them all the way up, turning his head to look down at her curiously.

He was about to ask if she'd remembered the name of the song yet because, for the life of him, he _still_ couldn't place it. But she was stirring again and the question dissipated on his barely parted lips, then she began to pull away from him and sit up and he immediately yearned for her warmth against his side. He resisted the urge to reach out and pull her back down and remained motionless and silent instead, watching her slip her clothes on and locate his pants and shirt and vest. She stepped so lightly that her small feet made no sound on the floor, continuing to hum while she moved about leisurely. His eyes followed her every movement, enraptured with the post-climax glow about her skin and the way the candlelight seemed to set a golden aura around her entire form.

All he could think about was how he'd never seen anything more beautiful in all his years of living.

And then: how had it come to this exactly? How had he gotten so… _lucky_?

He put his clothes on wordlessly and anticipated her return to the bed but she was occupied with blowing out all the candles. She'd ceased humming and the small room grew silent. There was a single loud '_caw!_' from somewhere outside the window but he refused to turn his head and look, keeping his eyes locked on Beth.

With her back momentarily turned to him, her dainty shoulders still glistening with a sheen of perspiration, he muttered uncertainly, "Never thought it'd… be like this."

She made a sound in response, a quiet "_Hmm_?"

He licked his lips and glanced away when she turned around to meet his gaze, staring down at a loose thread in the blanket and mumbling shyly, "Y'know what I mean."

She did. He could hear the faint smile on her lips when she said, "Yeah. Well… nothin' ever really turns out the way we _think_ it's going to in _this_ world, huh?"

Daryl grunted, unable to lift his head and look at her for fear she'd see the blush that was rising up his neck and creeping into his face. "'Spose so."

_I'm glad I didn't say goodbye._

Beth blew out the last candle and crossed back to the bed silently, sitting down beside him and criss-crossing her legs beneath her. "I mean… the apocalypse sure didn't go down like anybody thought it would. My daddy always said there'd be trumpets an' angels an' horsemen and seven-headed beasts risin' up from the sea. Nobody ever thought it'd turn half of us into monsters." She licked her lips and he glanced over to see her gazing down at the blanket thoughtfully. Her tone softened and grew almost reminiscent as she continued, "And then the farm - I couldn't have prepared for that in a million years. And… the prison. Lori. Your brother. My dad. Maggie and Glenn and baby Judith…"

She paused and he couldn't tear his eyes away from her. Then her gaze flicked up to meet his and he could see the tears sparkling at the corners, but they didn't fall.

"And _us_," she finished breathily.

A slew of memories flashed through his mind, but there were only a handful that were sticking out prominently and sending a tight flutter through his chest. He swallowed hard and whispered out before he could stop himself, "I couldn't jus' leave you there. Yer… all I got left. You was the only reason I had ta run."

_I wouldn't have had a reason to __**keep**__ running and __**keep**__ surviving if it weren't for you,_ Daryl thought, biting his lip. _I never could've been strong enough to handle making it outta that fucking prison while everybody else died._

To his surprise, the corner of her mouth curled into a bashful half-smile and she shook her head. "I wasn't the only reason. You woulda run anyway - you didn't have a _choice_."

He didn't smirk back. He replied somberly, "I _always_ have a choice."

Her smile disappeared and the brightness in her eyes flickered. The moonlight leaking through the window was dim and the rain had stopped some time ago. He heard that damned crow again, but it sounded farther away this time.

His heart thumped against the inside of his chest. He began to wonder if he'd said the wrong thing. This was why he preferred to keep his mouth shut. Why had he even spoken up in the first place?

Then she was whispering innocently, "Where d'you think we'll go after all this?"

He pondered her question for a second, chewing his lower lip. He thought she was talking about their next destination, what might come after the funeral home. And he wondered why she was asking him when she'd been the one so insistent on leaving.

"Where d'you _wanna_ go?"

"I dunno… Somewhere nice."

There was a beat, a tense silence that he wasn't sure whether he was imagining or not. Then the lighting in the room changed to near darkness for a split-second. He looked over at the window and saw a dark cloud passing across the moon in the sky, and then another and another and another after that. Their obstruction made the dim glow flicker inside the bedroom.

_Why can't you snap out of it now, Daryl?_

Daryl blinked long and slow, willing the haze to recede but not expecting it to obey. When he opened his eyes again and looked over at Beth, he saw her rubbing her arms uncomfortably. His mouth had gone dry.

"I'm so cold," she mumbled.

He didn't know how it was possible when she'd been so hot to the touch such a short time ago and he didn't ask either. He simply laid back on the bed and patted the empty spot beside him. Wordlessly, she crawled over and occupied her previous position lying against his side and he pulled the blankets up over them before wrapping his arms tightly around her and pulling her in close. He realized she really was cold and he tried to cocoon her in his body heat and trap it with the blanket.

Several moments of holding her tight against his body and letting her head rest on his chest and her skin still didn't seem to be warming up. But she'd gone motionless and silent in his arms, breathing steadily once again, and he ended up burying his face in her hair and getting lost in her comforting scent while his eyes fell shut. He could feel her heart beating in time with his own like a soft lullaby.

Daryl wanted to stay awake until the sun came up. He wanted to keep watch, even if it only meant keeping his eyes open while Beth slept. But he allowed himself to get lost in the solace of where he was, he allowed the intrusive thoughts to drift away and silence themselves, the squawking of crows outside to blend and fade into nothing more than background noise.

And when sleep finally reached up and wrapped him in its embrace, he mistook it for Beth's familiar arms and allowed it to swallow him up like the softest cradle of quicksand.

* * *

Daryl opened his eyes to complete silence and an inexplicable sense of unease. Beth wasn't beside him and as he glanced around the bedroom, he realized she was nowhere to be found. All the candles were gone and the dresser was back in its original spot against the wall. The door was open and bright morning sunlight was filling the funeral home.

He hopped out of bed and slipped his boots on, hastily rushing out of the room. As soon as he emerged into the hallway, he heard her calling out to him from somewhere downstairs.

"Daryl!"

He took the stairs two at a time and raced through the entryway into the kitchen, following the sound of her voice. But the kitchen was empty, a half-eaten jar of pigs' feet sitting on the table. He paused and listened.

"Daryl!"

He spun around and left the kitchen, nearly stumbling as he struggled to follow the sound before it faded away. He went into the parlor and found a dusty piano sitting untouched, then the den to find a small pile of very old ashes in the fireplace and no other trace of life. Each time he left a room and entered another, he would hear her calling to him. Yet her voice seemed to be getting farther away.

"Daryl…!"

His heart was racing and his blood was pumping loudly in his ears. He finally realized she had to be outside - her calls were coming from _outside_ the walls, drifting in and making them sound like they were coming from every single room simultaneously. He found his way to the front door and shoved it open.

His feet pounded across the wooden porch and he bounded over the small set of steps onto dead grass, breaking into a run when he heard her voice again. He was getting closer.

"Daryl!"

He crossed the yard without giving a single thought toward any geeks that might've been waiting for him. She called for him once more as he approached the dirt road but it sounded distorted this time, croaky and deep and not like Beth at all.

Then he was stepping out into the road and staring ahead at the shadowy mass of trees. Even in the morning sun, they were dark and foreboding. The sound came again, so close that it was deafening in his ears. It wasn't his name this time. It wasn't anything close to Beth's voice. He winced and turned to look down the road, searching for the source with wide eyes.

Merle's motorcycle sat parked on the side of the road, and perched atop the handlebars was a fat black crow. Its beady little eyes met his and its beak opened to let out another loud '_caw!_' He shook his head, pushing the sound away and refusing to accept it.

He'd heard _Beth_ calling him. He'd _heard_ her - not this fucking bird. She'd been calling his name. He'd _heard_ it.

And where did Merle's bike come from? Daryl had thought it was gone forever, certain that he would never see it again. He couldn't stop his feet from moving forward, couldn't resist the magnetic pull that urged him toward the bike and the crow perched upon it.

"Get outta here - _shoo_! Get away from that," he scolded, waving his hands and trying to scare the bird off. But it didn't budge, not even when he was standing inches away from it, continuing to stare intently at him and sending chills down his spine.

He wasn't sure why but the next thing he knew, he was throwing his leg over and climbing onto the motorcycle. It was exactly as he remembered it, untouched by time or vandals. He revved it to life and felt it rumbling beneath him. Still, the crow didn't move.

As he kicked the kickstand up and prepared to take off, he narrowed his eyes menacingly at the black bird and it quirked its head, then let out a stubborn '_caw!_' in response. Its feathered wings flapped lightly and it turned around to face forward. As though it were waiting for Daryl to start riding ahead.

Then he was taking off down the road, kicking up rocks and dust in his wake, quickly picking up speed and leaving the mortuary behind him. The wind blew cold against his bare face and when he looked over, he saw the crow's feathers ruffling against the current and its wings beginning to spread outward tentatively.

He was no longer paying attention to the road. All the trees and greenery passed by in multicolored blurs and his hair whipped behind him in the wind. He was too focused on the crow to notice anything else. Suddenly, he feared that it would fly off. For some odd reason, he wanted it to stay by his side and dreaded the thought of seeing it disappear into the sky knowing he'd never see it again.

The crow turned its head and looked back at him with curious black eyes. Its beak opened but no sound came out this time. Then its wings spread out wide and full. And the next second, it was lifting off from its perch and taking flight, flapping against the wind with determination.

He wanted to call out but his voice was caught in his throat. All he could do was stare as the bird flew up and up and up, shrinking into a smaller and smaller black dot until it had completely ascended and disappeared into the dark clouds above. He could no longer hear the rumble of the motorcycle beneath him nor the wind rushing over his ears.

Everything was silent.


	7. day four

**day four**

Something was _different_ when Daryl awoke. He couldn't describe it or pinpoint exactly what it was, but when he opened his eyes and glanced around, he felt as though it were all _clearer_ somehow - sharper, harsher, more bleak. Everything from the early morning sunlight pouring in through the window to the appearance of the walls and the floors inside the bedroom. Even the bed beneath him felt noticeably less comfortable than it had before. His body ached and his throat was dry and hoarse.

But the haze, the fog, the static, the thin film of whatever-the-fuck had been clouding his mind and his vision all at once over the last few days… it was _gone_.

He rubbed the sleep from his eyes and blinked rapidly, sitting up and looking around. His mind was racing in a way it hadn't since… he didn't even know when. A hundred thousand fleeting memories were flying through his head, shuffling like a deck of cards and leaving him reeling and disoriented. His breath hitched in his chest and his heart sped up.

Then the realization hit him like a freight train: _Beth. Where's Beth?_

It all came back at once and he wondered how he could wake up so confused. He couldn't even recall the dream he'd had, though he knew he'd dreamt. And how many hours had passed? And why hadn't she woken him up?

That was when he realized the dresser was still placed firmly in front of the door, exactly as he'd left it the night before. The candles were all half-melted and had left trails of hardened wax across the surfaces they sat atop. He was still in his clothes with his boots sitting on the floor beside the bed and his sheathed knives resting on the endtable. Nothing that belonged to Beth, other than her pristine knife, was anywhere to be found.

He jumped out of bed and put on his boots in a panicked rush, grabbing his knives and securing them on his belt then shoving the dresser aside and racing out into the hall. He'd barely taken half a step outside the bedroom before he was calling out desperately, "Beth?!"

His voice echoed off the walls of the quiet, empty house. But he got no response. His heart plummeted down to the pit of his stomach and fear turned his blood to ice within his veins. A cold sweat broke out on his forehead and his feet went numb as they carried him down the stairs on autopilot.

His boot had barely touched the floor of the entryway when the music reached his ears. He froze and listened close until he could discern the sound of piano keys and melodic singing. His heart pounded raucously inside his sternum and he placed a trembling hand over his chest in an effort to quiet the noise. The music grew louder, entering through his ears and drifting down to fill his whole body with a familiar lightness.

_Beth,_ he thought. _She's singing me awake._

He didn't wonder how she could've gotten out of the bedroom with the dresser barricading the door from the inside as he walked towards the parlor. He tried to ignore it just as he'd done with all the other inconsistencies over the last few days. But it was nagging at the back of his head even while he approached the doorway and stepped inside.

The anticipation swelling within him burst like a bubble and his stomach dropped down to his feet. The parlor was completely empty and the piano was untouched, a cover over the keys and a thin layer of dust atop the surface and the bench seat. The music had been so loud when he approached, but now it was distant in his ears. He turned around, confused, and headed back out into the entryway. He'd been so certain that it was piano keys he was hearing…

The music persisted. This time it sounded like the strum of guitar strings. His heart was still racing as he forced himself to walk calmly and patiently through the house. He stopped and eyed the door to the den. The tune filling his ears and invading his head was familiar, haunting, bone-chilling and heartwarming all at the same time. It relaxed him. He told himaelf he'd found her.

Beth was singing the words - those lyrics that had been just out of his reach all night, the unmistakable classic song that he should've been able to recall just as easily as he recalled his father's name.

"_...But if I stayed here with you, boy, things just couldn't be the same. 'Cause I'm as free as a bird now, and this bird you'll never change…_"

He was crossing the distance to the door with long strides, a smirk on his face and a teasing remark prepared to burst from his mouth. He entered the music-filled room and parted his lips to say, "_Free Bird_, huh? How'd we forget that one?"

But the words echoed out around him and fell on emptiness. The music stopped and he looked around, mouth agape and smirk quickly fading. His eyes landed on the guitar sitting where Beth had left it in the corner, but… it wasn't the same guitar. It was old and busted and missing half the strings. He didn't take the time to look at anything else because he was spinning around and rushing from the room.

Daryl had thought the music was loud, but the silence that suddenly surrounded him was _deafening_. His heart was thumping again, trying to escape the confines of his body, but he couldn't hear it over the rushing of his own blood and the complete lack of music. The music that had literally just been in his ears and filling his head, the music that had led him through the house and into two different rooms until it was so fucking loud that he couldn't hear _anything_ else.

_Fuck_ \- was he still losing his mind?

"Beth!" He cried out, spinning around aimlessly beside the stairs and searching with tear-filled eyes. Bile was rising in his throat and he had to fight it back just to yell, to call out for her, to _plead_ with her to tell him where she was.

"Beth!" He glanced inside the kitchen, the den, the parlor, his eyes skipping across everything that wasn't blonde hair and five feet of determined Greene.

"_Beth_!" He stumbled up the stairs and glanced inside every bedroom, every bathroom, even the attic. He couldn't locate so much as a trace of her scent.

"_**Beth**_!" He raced back down the stairs and checked the back porch, crying out loudly into the foggy open field and woods before him. He was answered by a cold breeze and more squawking crows.

"_**BETH**_!" His vision was blurry with tears now and he roughly wiped them away, struggling to keep his panic under control. He didn't even bother to grab his crossbow before he dashed out the front door and across the porch, looking around wildly in every direction with dew-dampened grass beneath his boots.

"Beth, _answer_ me!" He begged, his own cracked voice bouncing off the trees and taunting him. He wiped away more tears and took a precarious step toward the woods, eyeballing his perimeter system and searching for damage.

His turned back toward the road and his first thought was that the cops' backup had shown up and stolen her in the night. _Shit, shit, shit, I should've fucking kept watch. _Within half a heartbeat, another thought hit him and he wondered if she'd gone to check the car. Maybe she was ensuring that he would keep his word.

Or maybe he was just hoping for the best in a worst-case scenario.

His body was acting before his mind could make a decision and then he was bounding across the dead grass in a clumsy run, half-searching as he went and half-praying that he would find her before something or someone else did. He didn't have the time or the sense to wonder why she'd leave the house without him or why she'd ever think anything about this was a good idea. Nor did he have the chance to contemplate where that _goddamn_ music had come from.

There was no hint of Beth - not even bootprints in the dirt - by the time Daryl reached the road and crossed to the other side. He didn't look up at the mass of trees, keeping his eyes on the ground while he searched for tire tracks, footprints, blood spatters, _anything_. He finally halted and lifted his head to stare forward, morning sun beating down on him and barely cutting through the layer of damp fog that hovered over the ground.

"Beth, where _are_ you?!" He cupped his hands around his mouth and called out.

The woods replied. A dozen trees rustled at once, all their branches creaking and thousands of dead leaves drifting to the ground in a noisy downpour of foliage. The sound was quickly drowned out by the loud squawking of countless crows all crying out their complaints in unison. And then a huge flock of dark birds emerged and their numbers burst outward to create a massive black cloud for the briefest moment before dispersing in every which direction. They ascended upward like hundreds and hundreds of tiny V-shapes shooting into the sky.

Daryl didn't realize he'd stopped breathing until the very last dark-winged bird had fled the trees and flown skyward to disappear amongst the clouds. He inhaled deeply through a dry cracked throat into shaky lungs, then he felt an indescribable magnetic pull tugging at his stomach, his legs, his feet. It urged him towards the woods, towards the car he knew was parked amidst the darkness of dying trees and nesting crows. He wanted to stop himself, wanted to protest against his own muscles, but he no longer felt like he had the willpower to do such a thing. Some sort of gut feeling was leading him into the shadowy mass of trees and some sort of unknown instinct was telling him that this was his only choice.

He repeated her name in his head like a mantra: _Beth, Beth, Beth_. As though it would help him find her. _Beth, Beth, Beth_. As though he could _ever_ forget her, even for a moment, and the purpose that drove him forward - the purpose _she_ gave him.

Sticks and leaves crunched beneath his boots and he kept walking, his steps becoming smaller and smaller as he got closer and closer. The back of the car was within sight, the white cross on the rear window glaring at him. The glass caught a beam of sunlight leaking through the canopy of dying foliage and glinted blindingly. The cold sweat on his forehead became hot, sliding down his temples and falling into his beard. His breaths were coming short and raspy and he suddenly wished more than anything that he'd brought his crossbow. The spot on his back and across his shoulder felt naked and his chewed-down fingernails scratched restlessly against his pants. One of his hands drifted up and rested over the handle of Beth's knife, his thumb poised and ready to pop open the sheath at any sign of a threat.

But the woods were silent and completely unresponsive to his unspoken questions. Even the birds were quiet - the few that remained on the branches after all the others were spooked away, that is. He could almost feel their beady little eyes following his every tentative step, and his nerves were on edge as he anticipated a loud squawking to fill his ears. It never did, though. All he could hear was his own heartbeat, his own rushing blood, his own feet unwillingly moving across the ground.

And then he was close enough to reach out and place his palm flat against the dusty surface of the trunk. But he didn't. He _couldn't_. He wasn't physically capable. His arms had gone numb at his sides and his hands were more like phantom limbs full of needle-sharp tingles than actual hands.

But he'd _promised_ her that he would check the car.

He thought it must've been the smell that halted him where he stood and left him reeling, paralyzed with fear and disgust. His jaw clenched tightly and more sweat formed above his brow, and the smell just got worse. It was somehow stronger than the stench of any geek he'd ever killed, somehow more invasive and permeating than the inescapable odor of any corpse he'd ever encountered. Reflexively, he wanted to take a couple dozen steps back and fill his nose with anything else but _that_ smell.

Yet his body wouldn't let him. The gravitational pull that had led him this far wasn't loosening its spindly grip. He glanced around warily and took in the looming trees, the creeping undergrowth, the total lack of human existence that surrounded him. It suddenly weighed heavy upon his shoulders and threatened to send him crumbling to the ground in a heap of hopelessness and despair.

He'd lost her. Despite all his attempts and all his determination, he'd fucking _lost_ her.

How had he not been _paying attention_?

Daryl stepped warily around the back of the car on numb and shaky legs. The stench was a _part_ of him now, so strong and overwhelming that he'd accepted the fact that he could never escape it. He approached the rear driver's side door and stopped, the crunching beneath his boots going silent. His eyes were watering from the smell and from the tears that he was trying so hard to hold back. His tongue was swollen and heavy inside his mouth, and he could no longer hear the thumping of his pulse.

The windows were too darkly tinted to see inside, and the rain had left smudges of condensation and streaks of hard water across the once-gleaming surface. There was a thin layer of foliage covering the hood and the roof and the top of the trunk, and nature was already trying to claim the vehicle for its own with tiny web-like vines inching their way up toward the worn tires. But Daryl's eyes were set on the metal handle before him, the speckles of dust that coated it and forebade his disturbance.

A faint and distant voice echoed from somewhere in the very back of his head and at first, he thought it might've been his long-dead mother.

But then it grew louder and something finally _clicked_... and he knew exactly whose voice it was.

_Pay attention, Daryl!_

He just _knew_. He recognized it. He'd recognized it this whole time and _ignored_ it. How had he ignored it?

_Snap out of it, Daryl!_

His stomach turned and his intestines were twisting into several painfully elaborate knots.

Then he did it. He paid attention. He snapped out of it.

And he reached his hand forth and his fingers curled numbly beneath the handle and he used every single ounce of strength he had left in his body to lift it up. He had to gather a whole new bout of strength before he could actually pull the car door open.

Maybe it was the assaulting stench that sent him tumbling backwards onto his ass in the dirt, or maybe it was the fact that he couldn't feel his legs or his feet and his knees had already been shaky and unsteady. Either way, he wound up on the ground with his hands beneath him to catch his fall, coughing and gasping for breath, rapidly blinking against the fresh wave of water that had filled his burning eyes. The atrocious odor stung his throat and sent him into a minute-long coughing fit, leaving him doubled over in the dirt and nearly hacking up a lung.

Once he managed to regain his composure and wipe away the tears and stray sweat, he hesitated where he sat and looked up toward the car. In the same moment, a fat black crow drifted down from the trees and landed atop the hood, its tiny talons curling around the edge of the open door. It perked up straight and proud and glared down at him with a meaningful, beady-eyed gaze. Then its beak opened and its head tilted skyward and it let out a jarring '_caw!_' before ominously flapping its dark wings at Daryl. He wondered if it was the same bird that had taunted him in the yard and from outside the window of the den.

It seemed to be waiting expectantly, watching him and urging him to look for himself - to accept what he'd been denying all along.

Then the crow took flight and disappeared up into the trees. Daryl pushed himself up to his feet and stood straight, forcing his knees to stop wobbling and remain strong. His eyes dragged downward, into the darkness of the car's interior, the shadowy backseat that lay before him and threatened to knock him over with its overwhelming stench.

He took that final precarious step forward and confronted the truth he'd been denying for nearly four days.

Everything fell away - around him, inside him, within his mind. His eyes landed upon the most gruesome sight he could've ever imagined. The realization sank in slowly like morphine dripping through an IV. Then it breached his skin and absorbed into his every muscle, shooting up through all his veins and filling his head with a rush of cold blood and ice water until his brain was able to comprehend what his eyes were seeing. He was almost certain his heart stopped in his chest.

He didn't understand how he was still standing, still breathing, still _living_. He wanted to look away, wanted to turn and run back to the house as fast as he could. But he couldn't. There was no more running from this.

_Beth…_ Beautiful Beth Greene, the songbird he'd grown to know and care for more than he'd ever cared for himself. The blonde beam of sunshine that had permeated his life and his mind and his very fucking _soul_. The indestructible force that had kept him going this entire time. The woman he loved…

She was there. She was lying in the backseat.

She was _dead_.

_How how how?_ He asked himself. And then, _No no no. Please no. Not her._

She was lying on her back with her knees bent to fit her whole body along the cushioned backseat, her head tilted toward the back of the seat, one withering arm hanging limply over the edge and a pale, bony hand curled against the floor. Her other arm was bent between her body and the back of the seat. She was still wearing that faded and blood-stained yellow polo, those overworn and ripped jeans, the thin-soled brown boots that had seen so many miles of Georgia wilderness. He almost couldn't bear to look at her face but he knew he _had_ to look - _needed_ to look.

Her expression was peaceful, thankfully. But the longer he stared and the more his eyes searched, the less peaceful she appeared. For a second, he might've thought she was sleeping. Her eyes were shut and her lips were barely parted as if she was mid-snore, her long blonde ponytail and unmistakable braid splayed out beneath her small head. Then he took note of how sallow her cheeks were, how sharp and jutting her once cherubic features had become. How her skin was completely devoid of that lively glow that always emanated from her.

And though he tried and tried not to look at it, his eyes were inevitably drawn to the bloody spatter on the side of her neck and part of her chest, the recent dark stain that soaked the fabric of her shirt.

"No, no… _no-o-o_. Please..." He didn't realize the sound was coming from his own mouth for several seconds. The devastation poured from his lips before he could stop it, leaking outward and filling the silence around him.

But there was no one around to hear his pleas anyway.

He couldn't recognize his own choked voice as he bent down and leaned forward, reaching into the car and begging with a nonexistent god, "No, _not_ her, please - _anybody_ but her. I ain't gonna let it be her, it _can't_ be her. Let it be me, please please jus' let it be _me_..."

He was arguing with a malevolent, unseen, completely unstoppable force. He knew that. But he didn't _want_ to know it. He wasn't ready to accept it.

When he hunched down into the backseat of the car and slipped his arms beneath her motionless form, he kept his eyes locked on her face. He was waiting for any sign of movement, any sign of life, _pleading_ for it to not be true. And then he lifted her and it took all his strength and he could barely catch his breath through the panic and the stench that consumed him. And as he pulled her toward him, lifted her from the seat that had been her coffin and willed every last jolt of life within him to somehow transfer into her body and wake her up, he felt just how _heavy_ she actually was and how utterly lifeless her body had become.

And he knew. He knew there was no fixing this. He knew even before he pulled her from the car and cradled her in his arms, even before he crumpled to a defenseless heap on the ground, even before he sat back against the tire in the damp dirt and embraced her and held her close to his chest, clutching her tighter than he'd ever dared before.

She wasn't breathing. There was no pulse to be found. Her skin was pale and clammy and drained of life. Her golden hair was the color of dirty straw and brittle to the touch. The seat of her jeans was hard and stained with dark excrement. Her limbs were stiffer than usual and there was a blood-tinged foamy substance leaking from her nose and mouth, dribbling down across her cheek and upper lip and chin. Her belly and the fleshiest parts of her figure were already beginning to unnaturally bloat. And she reeked of death and decomposition.

He could no longer notice the smell in his nose. It didn't matter. The tears were pouring from his eyes uncontrollably and soaking his beard, his neck, his shirt. The sobs wracked his body and he couldn't take in a full breath no matter how hard he tried. He cupped the side of her ice-cold face in his palm and gently turned her head to rest her cheek against his chest.

That was when he finally took note of it: the blood that stained part of her blonde hair and her shirt and crusted over the skin of her neck and chest. It had come from a wound at the base of her scalp, just behind her ear on the side of her head that had been rested against the back of the seat. His fingers were trembling as he pushed aside a few strands of brittle hair for a closer look.

A bullet hole. Wide and gaping and _fatal_. The same wound he'd thought had only been a graze, the same wound he'd cleaned up and bandaged and inspected in the dim firelight of the den. Yet it was different. This wasn't a graze - it was a _killshot_. And when he traced his fingers up through her hair to the top of her scalp, he found the exit wound beside the elastic band that held her ponytail together. He couldn't bear to look at it for more than a brief glance. Bits of gray matter were still matted in her hair and crusted within her braid.

Everything that had been Beth had rapidly exited from that gaping hole in her skull, leaving nothing but disgusting remnants of the girl who would never return. Like a taunting reminder of everything Daryl could never get back.

The bile rose in his throat and he'd done a decent job of swallowing it down thus far, but this time he didn't stand a chance. It burned the back of his mouth like acid and his stomach tumbled and twisted and turned all at once. But he couldn't let go of her, couldn't bear to loosen his grasp on the shell of the woman he'd intended to _die_ for.

He turned his head and leaned over and retched. Everything he'd eaten the night before spewed from his mouth and made a thick puddle in the dirt beside him. He couldn't even smell the acidic aroma of his vomit over the intense stench of death - the stench that emanated from Beth. He squeezed his eyes shut against another onslaught of tears and retched again. And again. And again, until mucus and stomach bile were dripping from his nose and he could do nothing more than dry heave.

His arms trembled and went numb around her frail, stiff body. He tried to hold her closer while he kept the side of her face pressed tightly against his chest. His tears were falling down into her hair and creating new stains on her yellow polo. He was shaking and sobbing and mumbling incoherently, unsure of what he was saying as he gasped for breath and cradled Beth in his lap.

(It might've been a prayer but he couldn't tell. He knew no one was listening anyway.)

There was an earthquake within his nerves, a tsunami inside his brain, an earth-shattering volcanic explosion erupting and smoldering throughout his entire body. He could barely breathe and he couldn't think. All he could do was rock her lifeless body back and forth, sobbing and wailing and weeping. He didn't even care if a whole herd of Walkers stumbled upon him right now. Maybe then he could wake up from this horrific nightmare.

Except he _knew_ it was no nightmare. This was no dream or hallucination or trick-of-the-light. Daryl hadn't gone truly insane just yet and sadly, he was very much awake. There _was_ no waking up from this.

_And maybe, _he thought,_ there are no second chances. Just pipe dreams and empty promises._

Why couldn't he have just stayed asleep forever?

_I wasn't paying attention. I had to snap out of it._

* * *

He sat in the dirt and cradled Beth close to his chest while his vomit dried in a puddle beside him. He held her until the sobs had stopped wracking his body, until his breathing had returned to normal, until his tears and snot had dried and crusted on his face. Until his hands and fingers had become nearly as cold as her flesh. Until all the morning fog had dissipated and the sun had inched up high enough to beam down through the canopy of trees. Until his mind had gone blank and his muscles had gone limp and motionless. Until the complete numbness had set in and left him staring ahead blankly with puffy red eyes, barely blinking or breathing, unaware of the tears that leaked out and rolled down his cheeks every few moments.

Everything was silent. Even his head. He yearned for her voice, for that disembodied echo that had followed him for days. It was all he had left of her anymore. And the memory was fading so quickly, falling deep into the dark trenches of his subconscious and out of his reach.

_Pay attention… Snap out of it… Why aren't you __**listening**__ to me, Daryl?_

He didn't know how long he sat there. It could've been half an hour or three hours or three days. Time no longer mattered. It never had, really. But eventually, a small group of geeks shambled up out of the deep woods, moaning and groaning and half-tripping across rocks and fallen logs. Daryl still didn't move. He couldn't. He didn't care. All he could focus on was the heavy weight of Beth's body in his lap, the coldness of her skin that seeped through the fabric of his shirt and chilled him to the bone. He couldn't even be bothered to turn his head.

They walked right past him. They couldn't have been more than two yards away but they didn't so much as glance in his direction. His sore, puffy eyes followed the group of undead as they continued moving, watching until they'd walked on and disappeared from sight into the thick cover of trees. And then their grotesque sounds faded away and they were gone.

For a second, he wished they'd come back and take him with them.

Some time later, as the sun rose further into the sky and began to burn with the heat of high noon, a murder of fat crows with feathers black as night fluttered down from somewhere up in the trees and landed on the top of the car. He didn't know why he bothered but he finally moved, turning his head and looking back to see the birds. They were all staring down at him menacingly, beady black eyes burning right through his skin. He shivered.

One of the crows flapped its wings as if to get Daryl's attention. Then he followed it with his eyes as it flew up and away from the car, and he turned his head to watch it glide over to the tree directly in front of him. It landed on a low, bare branch and glared down at him before opening its beak wide and letting out an angry _'caw_!'

Daryl blinked and his gaze drifted up to the branch just above the crow. He spotted a bundle of sticks and weeds and dead grass bunched up near the trunk of the tree, within a knothole left by a broken branch. His brow furrowed and his stomach turned. It was a bird nest.

"_Pay attention, Daryl_," he whispered to himself. He hadn't meant to say it aloud but it had poured from his cracked dry lips on a hoarse breath nonetheless.

His eyes were locked on the small nest, unable to look away for reasons he could not understand. Slowly, his mind began to whir back to life and that shuffling card deck of memories was in motion once more.

But it was no longer a skipping CD or a broken VHS tape or a channel on TV that was half-static and half-jumping images. His head was finally working like it was supposed to. Everything was beginning to play back fluidly for the first time, a reel of memories that had evaded his comprehension far too long. The haze was gone, the fog had receded, and now he was left with the harsh contrast of reality. As though he'd been staring straight at the sun for several minutes. As though he'd been wearing rose-tinted glasses this entire time.

As though he'd been pushing away the inevitable truth for a narrative that brought him short-lived solace.

That _fucking_ bird nest. That joke he'd made inside the kitchen, that momentary look of abhorrence Beth had given him. And those eggs that he couldn't remember finding, that look of confusion she'd had on her face, the instance when he'd been without her that he couldn't seem to recall. It was staring right at him, all the details drifting up to the surface of his mind until it made perfect sense.

He'd stashed the car right after stashing Beth's corpse. He'd placed her body ever-so-lovingly into the backseat and driven the car into the darkness of the woods, parked it amongst a thick cover of trees. And as he'd been walking away from it on numb legs, drifting through the woods like some kind of unreal dream, he'd spotted the nest in the tree and the eggs lying safely inside it. And he'd given it a second glance and a slight hesitation and then he'd kept walking, quicker and quicker until he'd reached the house. And he'd retreated inside to safety.

To _Beth_… To some kind of twisted illusion.

_I don't __**want**__ to pay attention, _he thought. _I don't wanna know._

He was standing up. He struggled to keep Beth grasped in his arms as he pushed himself off the ground and regained feeling in his limbs. He was being moved by some inexplicable motivation that urged him forward and forced him to keep going, to do something. _Anything_. He was ready to sit here and waste away with her lifeless corpse clutched to his chest, but for some reason he felt that he needed to do something more. For _her_ sake.

He stumbled away from the car with Beth's body heavily cradled in his arms, fresh tears blurring his vision as he walked through the woods and nearly tripped over fallen branches and tangled undergrowth. All the birds had gone silent above him, though he could feel their eyes following him. His breath was ragged and strained by the time he reached the road but he didn't stop or slow down. He held her closer to his chest, grasped her tighter in his arms, and kept walking over gravel and mud and dying grass.

His eyes fell upon the mound of dirt that marked the one-eyed dog's grave, the soil still fresh and turned to dark mud from the recent rain. Then his gaze drifted over and over and over until it landed on the edge of the century-old graveyard. He thought of Beth perched on his back, strong and lively legs wrapped around his waist, her laughter high-pitched and breathless as he'd given her a piggyback ride across the cemetery. He thought of how warm her hand was in his, how tiny her fingers had felt when they were intertwined with his, and the pang of guilt and remorse and _something else_ that had strummed his heart as they'd gazed silently at the headstone of a father they'd never met yet both knew all the same.

That was when he spotted it: another detail he'd been missing. Another instance where he should've been paying attention.

A fresh grave had been dug in the ground, a large pile of soil left sitting beside it and waiting to fill the hole and submerge its inhabitant. And stuck into the pile of rain-dampened soil was the shovel Daryl had used to dig it. The same shovel he'd found in the basement and used to dig the furry white dog's final resting place.

The memory rose to the forefront of his mind so suddenly that he shuddered at the reminiscence, at the jarring realization. No wonder he'd been so fucking exhausted, no wonder his muscles had been so impossibly goddamn sore - he'd exerted all his energy by digging _two_ graves. He'd hunched over and panted and sweated and dug and dug and dug until he was soaked with perspiration and drained of strength. He'd worked until his back ached, until he was certain he'd created a trench large enough to hold a human body for the rest of time.

And with the memory of the action came the memory of the purpose. He knew exactly why he'd dug that other grave. He knew _exactly_ what he'd been planning for.

He tore his eyes away and looked ahead toward the house once more, forcing his feet to keep moving forward, forcing his legs to continue carrying the combined weight of his own body and Beth's corpse. He couldn't stop wondering when she'd gotten so heavy. She'd always been a dainty little thing, maybe 115 pounds soaking wet. But now she seemed to weigh a ton. Or was he carrying all of his crumbled hopes inside her dead body, making her heavier than she'd ever been in life?

When he reached the front door, he struggled for a moment to open it and get inside with Beth's decaying form cradled in his arms. But he managed. And he kicked the door shut behind him and headed straight to the basement, a subconscious plan guiding all his movements and leading him down the stairs into the battery-powered fluorescent lighting.

Daryl made his way over to one of the metal tables on shaky legs and carefully laid Beth's body atop the shiny surface. His arms were partially numb and tingly and the sudden lack of her weight made them feel too light. He took a tiny step back and gazed down at the woman he'd allowed to become a part of who he was. She looked paler and more skeletal in the lighting of the mortuary basement, but he couldn't look away.

He remembered clearing out this very room so many days ago, dragging heavy corpse after heavy corpse up the stairs and through the entryway and out the door. He remembered her being there, always waiting for him at the top of the stairs. He remembered her soft voice filling his ears and occupying his thoughts, distracting him from the dirty work he had to do. He hadn't even thought it strange that she didn't offer to help. He hadn't even given a second thought to her constant presence or her oddly optimistic tone.

One of his hands habitually moved to rest over the knife sheathed on his belt. His thumb grazed the handle and he remembered the odd conversation he'd had with Beth, how his head had been so fucking muddled and foggy that he couldn't even be sure he was hearing her right. Nor could he focus long enough to question the things she told him. How could he have believed that she didn't need her own knife? Why hadn't he _listened_ to her?

"Why couldn't I snap out of it?" He asked aloud, staring down at Beth's pale blue eyelids and wishing they would open so he could get an answer. His throat still burned raw and dry from thirst and vomit.

After several long moments of pointless wishing and hoping, he glanced around and began to plot out what he would do and what kind of supplies he would require for his task. He wanted to clean her up, he wanted to wipe away all the blood and dirt and grime and see the glow of her skin one last time. The white-and-red liquid leaking down her chin and cheek was making him sick and he hated, hated, _hated_ seeing her like this - so empty, so cold, so dirty and stiff and pale and bony and bloated.

He absently reached out a hand and brushed his fingertips across the length of her icy bare arm, wondering to himself where her cardigan had gone. He wanted to find it for her so she wouldn't be so cold.

Slowly, he forced himself to step away from her and head to the stairs, dragging himself up each step with feet heavy as stone. He looked back over his shoulder every couple of seconds as he ascended - just in case she decided to wake up or speak to him again. But he reached the door and the entryway and she remained silent.

She was still lying motionless where he'd left her. She was still dead.

She was still… just _gone_.

* * *

Daryl's first thought was to retrace his steps back to the car, assuming he'd left her cardigan in the backseat or dropped it somewhere on the ground along the way. The house felt much emptier than it had the day before, dustier and creakier and noticeably less welcoming. He no longer felt comforted inside the walls. If anything, he felt almost _trapped_. Like his breaths might come shorter and shorter until they stopped coming at all if he stayed inside for too long.

On his way to the front door, his eyes drifted across the bag and gun lying on the small sidetable exactly as he remembered them. Untouched and unmoved. His jaw clenched and he stopped, then he hesitantly reached out a hand and grasped the edge of the bag.

No. He couldn't. He didn't _want_ to know what was inside.

He let go and grabbed the gun instead, lifting it and checking that it was still loaded. He made sure the safety was on and stuffed the weapon into his waistband. He forced away the thoughts that wanted to remind him of _why_ she'd never kept this gun on her like he'd wanted her to. Because it made sense now and that sense was an excruciatingly painful realization.

Then he opened the front door and stepped out into the bright afternoon sunlight and crisp autumn air. His crossbow was still sitting somewhere in the den, or maybe it was still upstairs in the bedroom - it didn't really matter. Just the thought of picking it up again seemed torturous… because all he could think about was the Horton resting in Beth's delicate hands. None of the things he'd shared with her felt like _his_ anymore.

Everything felt wrong without her. Everything felt _incomplete_.

He made his way to the car once again with no sign of the lost cardigan. He had to remind himself to keep his eyes peeled for Walkers too, though there were none within sight. Nothing living or dead bothered him. Then again, he might've been too focused on his hunt to really notice much else. The world looked sharper than it had in a long time, teeming with all kinds of hidden secrets and devastating truths. But there was no longer a subconscious voice to guide his path or reassure him during moments of doubt. He was alone.

Completely and utterly _alone_.

The backdoor of the car was still open but the smell hadn't gotten any better. Not that Daryl cared. That same stench was soaked into his clothes now and following him wherever he went. He had nothing left in his stomach to retch up anyway.

He searched every inch within the interior and around the outside of the vehicle but found no cardigan or any other trace of Beth besides her bodily fluids and some stray blonde hairs. In a last-ditch effort, he popped the trunk and went around to the back of the car to peer inside and dig around.

There was a spare tire, a canister full of gasoline, a small first aid kit, a bundled-up tarp, a roll of duct tape, a few feet of thick rope, and a plastic bag full of zipties. He forced back the horrendous and intrusive thoughts that wanted to plague him with all the things these 'cops' had planned to do with Beth. He almost wished he could bring them back from the dead just to fucking strangle them to death. _Slowly_.

But then Daryl's mind went completely blank. He'd shoved aside a scratchy blanket and revealed the shattered pieces of an electronic device. He froze and stared down at them, one hand tentatively picking up the largest chunk and turning it over in his fingers. His limbs were beginning to tingle and go numb again.

"_...Gorman, what's your status?_"

The memory slammed into him like an iron mace to the skull, nearly knocking the wind from his lungs and sending him crumpling to the ground. His knees trembled and his hands began to shake and he immediately dropped the plastic from his hand like it had bit him. He took a step back and shut his eyes, shaking his head and silently begging the static in his ears to go away. He couldn't do this again. He wasn't _strong_ enough.

"_...Gorman, come in!_"

_No, no, no. That didn't happen, those voices weren't __**real**__, _Daryl told himself. But it was playing back in his head crystal-clear.

And goddammit, it made _sense_.

The radio had been inside the car. He hadn't noticed it, didn't even know it existed, until the static had filled the night air and sent a jolt of fear through his bones. At first, he'd thought there were _more_ of them hiding somewhere. But then the voice sounded out repeatedly and drifted from between the driver's and passenger's front seats. It was a woman he'd never heard before calling for a man that had just died.

"_...Gorman, do you copy?!_"

He remembered seeing a blinding flash of red in the pitch-black darkness of the night. He remembered the heavy square radio gripped in his hand, the terrifying and infuriating sound that kept emitting from it and echoing out into the woods. Then he remembered chucking it to the ground with all his strength and stomping on it with his boot as hard as he could, until it had cracked and shattered and finally gone silent. Yet the rage and grief had continued pulsating through his body. And he'd gathered the pieces and shoved them beneath a blanket in the trunk, praying they would never disturb him again.

_Promising_ himself they would never disturb him _or_ Beth again.

Daryl grabbed the canister of gasoline before slamming the trunk shut and turning around to race out of the woods as fast as he could. He kept his eyes staring straight ahead, focusing on the mental tasklist he'd formed and refusing to gaze around in case he noticed any other new details. His stomach turned at the prospect and he was positive that he couldn't handle anymore painful revelations. He decided he'd had more than enough to last a lifetime and as far as everything else was concerned, he didn't _want_ to know. It would only devastate him further, if that was still possible.

He left the canister on the porch and entered the house, pausing in front of the door and listening for any sounds from the basement. Everything was just as silent as it had been minutes ago. His shoulders slouched in defeat and he walked slowly through the entryway, silently preparing himself for whatever he may find within the rooms while he searched for Beth's cardigan.

He kept reminding himself that she was cold - _so_ cold - and that he needed to find it before he could do _anything_ else.

His first stop was the kitchen. He peered inside cautiously before stepping over the threshold and onto the tile. There wasn't much difference that he could see: the nearly empty jar of pigs' feet still sat on the tabletop next to the half-melted candle, and the cabinets above the counters had been left ajar. He strode over and opened them to look inside, finding the same stash of food. As much as he didn't want to, he understood now why it had remained untouched despite Beth's presence.

Though he still couldn't make sense of why she'd urged him to eat so incessantly. What had been the point of feeding a dying man? It would all go to waste anyway.

Daryl turned around and gazed down at the surface of the table, his eyes locking onto the half-written note that still lay there. The inked paper was beginning to form a very thin coat of dust, and the pen rested beside it as though Beth might return to finish her letter at any moment. He couldn't bring himself to lean down or pick up the note to read it. Instead, he left the room and moved on.

His next stop was the parlor. He stepped inside before he could hesitate and gazed around. Everything was the same as it had been that morning: the room was still empty, the satin-lined casket was still open, and the piano was still gathering dust with its keys untouched. Momentarily, he wondered if _any_ of it had been real… if any of the times she'd looked back over her shoulder in his direction with her fingers tinkling across the piano and a blush rising to her cheeks had actually happened.

Was all that music from somewhere inside his head? Had he imagined every one of those moments? Her melodic voice was still so easy to recall within his own memory.

"_...And we'll buy a beer to shotgun, and we'll lay in the lawn…_"

He blinked long and slow and shook his head. He shoved his hands into his pockets and looked down at the dust-coated chairs before him.

"_Snap out of it, Daryl,_" he grumbled to himself in frustration. Then he turned and left the parlor without so much as a glance backward.

His final stop was the den. Daryl lingered outside the door for a few moments, squeezing the handle of the knife sheathed on his belt. He already knew what he would find and he was terrified to approach it again, terrified to finally confront it. A part of him hoped beyond hope that what he'd seen that morning had been another… _misunderstanding_. But the larger and more logical part of him knew better.

He entered the eerily silent room and paused, dragging his eyes around to take in his surroundings. Nearly everything he looked upon sent chills through his bones and made his knees shake beneath him. His knuckles had gone white from how tightly he was squeezing the handle of Beth's knife. Hot tears were pushing up from the depths of his throat and burning his nose, filling his eyes and partially blurring his vision. He wiped them away with a rough hand and blinked and took a determined step forward.

There, in the corner, sat the guitar Beth had found and played so vibrantly. Except it looked nothing like Daryl remembered. It wasn't even playable. A couple more steps forward and he saw the half-empty bottle of diet soda sitting on the floor between the couch and the fireplace, and a couple feet away from that was a bowl of dirty red water with a blood-stained washcloth hanging off the edge. And when he finally forced his feet to carry him all the way to the couch, he found a small pile of familiar gray fabric bunched-up amongst the cushions.

He pulled it out gingerly and his fingers trembled while he unfolded it, more tears pooling in his eyes. It was her cardigan, stained and wrinkled exactly as he remembered. But there was a new stain on one shoulder and his breath hitched in his chest when he gazed down at the dried blood, the telltale dark remnant. He exhaled in a shudder and fought back a sob.

She'd _died_ in this cardigan.

Daryl pressed the thick, warm material to his nose and took in a deep lungful of Beth's saccharine scent. He held it inside as long as he could, letting it out only once he began to grow light-headed. His fingers grasped the sweater tightly, pressing it against his cheeks and his face and yearning to smell the earth and sunlight in her golden hair one last time. But this was all he had left. Her body reeked of death now, and it would only get worse. She would never smell like _this_ again.

And neither would he.

Daryl faintly remembered lying on the couch, so comfortable and content, and the fog of sleepiness that had hovered over the entire room. He'd heard Beth's contemplative voice so clearly, he'd seen her glowing form standing before the crackling fire so vividly. Suddenly, he recalled clutching the cardigan against him like a security blanket and breathing in her scent amongst the suffocating weight of total silence. He'd been lulled to the brink of sleep by the relaxation it had brought him. Yet now it was nothing more than a bleak reminder, a harsh wake-up call and a slap in the face.

There were some things that he felt were simply best left forgotten. Or misremembered.

He dragged himself out of the den after an immeasurable amount of time, clutching the gray cardigan tightly to his chest with both hands. Then he walked deftly and silently to the basement, descending the stairs and finding Beth's frail corpse lying on the metal table just as he'd left her. The room felt colder than before and it was quickly filling with the fresh, thick smell of decomposition. The air was heavy with the pungent odor and made Daryl's eyes water. He couldn't really figure out whether he was crying again or not.

His arms were limp and the cardigan hung loosely from between the grasp of his hands as he stared down at her. The tasklist he'd mentally formed was running through his head, boxes checking here and there and new entries forming in their place. He gingerly laid the cardigan out across her torso and turned away, wiping more tears from his stubbly cheeks with the back of his hand. He sniffled and straightened his back and left the basement on shaky but determined legs.

Nothing had changed when he emerged into the entryway and headed toward the kitchen. He had a plan in mind and was intent on letting it guide him, hoping it would push him the last small distance he needed to go. But he couldn't keep his eyes from wandering, couldn't keep his burning curiosity at bay nor keep the incessant questions from plaguing his mind.

And then he was approaching the sidetable by the front door. He was reaching a shaky hand out to grasp the dusty and dirty bag that had belonged to Beth. The material was coarse and crusty beneath his fingertips.

_Nothing more than cans of food and bottles of water in here, _he thought, even though his other hand was reaching up and moving to unzip the bag. _Nothing more than the hopeless plans of a ghost and more blood and dust. _His fingers were pinching the teardrop clasp and dragging it down to split open its tiny metal teeth.

Daryl found exactly what he expected: six cans of beans and vegetables weighing down the bottom of the worn bag, a couple of unopened bottles of water, a box of matches, a palm-sized tin of lighter fluid, a wrapped bar of soap, and a few loose tampons. The only thing he found that he _hadn't_ been expecting was the raggedy old book buried beneath the other items.

The recognition sparked in his head even before he reached inside and pulled it out, dropping the bag and the rest of its contents back to their spot on the small table.

Beth's journal. He'd seen it stuffed so snugly inside her back pocket for so many months, through fields and shacks and golf courses and woods and rain and Walker kills and everything else. He'd caught her holding it open in her lap on countless occasions, using whatever writing utensil she could find to jot down more words. He'd never asked about it. That stupid book was one of the only things to last after the prison fell. He could still remember seeing her with it in her cell, when she had laid on her bed so comfortably and daydreamed without worry. It had endured a lot of shit since then. But so had Beth.

His fingers moved on their own accord, carefully slipping between the gap of the tattered hardcover and the thick paper pages. He opened the book and held it out before him, cradled gently in his palms, and read the scribbled words under the late afternoon sun that poured in through the windows around him. His eyes skimmed over paragraphs of loopy handwriting, taking in each and every sentence. Until he was turning the pages to find more, listening to the soft flutter of paper as he gazed down at the familiar writing.

At the bottom of every page was a definitive "_BG_." A fat knot formed in his throat, painful and obtrusive. Yet he couldn't stop reading. His intestines entwined together and his heart thumped loudly behind his sternum.

"..._But this morning, Daddy said something: If you don't have hope, what's the point of living?_..."

It felt wrong. It _all_ felt wrong. He shouldn't have ever seen this, _any_ of it. He was invading her privacy, disrespecting her memory, disgracing her entire existence. But… he had no power to resist.

"..._We can live here. We can live here for the rest of our lives_…"

And the more he read, the farther he got into the pages, the quicker the pieces clicked together in his head.

"_...It feels like forever since I last saw Maggie's face…_"

Then the memory was returning - or the _jumble_ of memories, bringing with them a fresh wave of heartache and guilt and all the unanswered questions he could never speak aloud. The echoes of the untitled songs she'd never had the chance to put to music were reverberating painfully, bouncing back and forth off the confines of his skull and darting through his brain like tiny arrows.

"_...Empty my gun, dull my knife. Build a house, make a life…"_

Daryl had been so distraught, so utterly lost and desperate for any sense of purpose. He'd collected her journal along with her cardigan and knife. And in a dark, abysmal moment of despair, he'd flipped through the pages and read every word. He'd absorbed every thought. He'd envisioned every lyric of every song. And all those things that had been a part of Beth had become a part of _him_. Just like that. He'd personified them and created his own narrative that fit her perfectly, that fit _them_ perfectly.

"_...More hurricanes, snow storms, rain in my face…_"

He knew she hadn't meant to, but it almost felt _intentional_ \- how she'd left a letter for him within the pages of her tattered little book, like the note she'd begun to write for the owners of the funeral home. Every sentence permeated Daryl's skin and electrified his heart and spoke directly to his soul. He could hear her voice in every word, her music in every lyric, her laughter and stubborn defiance in every underlined statement. He could see her fury and frustration amongst the scribbled letters, he could hear her choked-back sobs and her hopeful cries and her breathless giggles and her desperate prayers to an unseen force. He was reading her unspoken admissions and all the things she never had the chance to tell him. He was hearing her unplayed music and all those undiscovered notes that she inadvertently layered beneath every beautifully written word, intertwined with every perfectly balanced line.

Maybe she hadn't intended for him to ever read it, but he had. And he was glad he did.

She was speaking to him long after death. She'd _been_ speaking to him. And he'd been listening. And now, more than ever, he heard her loud and clear. As insane as he knew it was, he felt that he was hearing her much more clearly than he'd ever been capable of before.

Finally, the static had left. The haze had faded away. The fog had dissipated. The illusions had flickered and disappeared once and for all. And Daryl was left to face the bleak truth through crystalline glass all on his own.

It was terrifying. It was nerve-wracking. It was absolutely and completely earth-shattering. And he didn't realize he'd crumbled to the floor, sitting with his back against the wall and his knees bent before him and her journal clutched in his shaking hands, until he was opening his eyes and blinking away an onslaught of salty tears. He struggled to gasp for breath between the shuddering sobs that were ripping through his chest and stealing every last ounce of oxygen from his lungs. The wetness poured down his cheeks and gathered in his beard, his fingers went numb around the tattered book grasped in his hands, and the wood floor was hard and unforgiving beneath him. He was internally and reflexively resisting against his own memory, fighting back the recollections of songs sung to him in a ghostly angelic voice and imaginary notes played on broken and silent instruments.

_It wasn't real,_ he told himself._ None of it was real._

He didn't even recognize his own hoarse and cracked voice as he blubbered out through tears and snot and violently shuddering sobs, "It was all… in my _fucking __**head**_..."

He pressed the open journal against his chest, as though he could somehow absorb the recorded remnants of Beth into his heart by osmosis or something. He tried to push out the suffocating weight that wanted to fill his veins with cold steel and make his head too heavy to lift. He tried to stop replaying her voice within the depths of his mind, her whispers and songs and promises, fighting as hard as he could to push out the intrusive reminders that threatened to break him apart where he sat.

When he heard her voice, soft and sweet and serene and _defiant_, he thought he was imagining it.

"That doesn't mean it didn't happen."

The journal fell from his hands and landed on the floor between his legs with a resounding _thud_. He raised his head and hurriedly wiped the tears from his eyes to clear his vision. Beth was standing near the foot of the stairs and she looked exactly as she had the first morning she'd appeared there, when she'd woken him from a restless sleep. That day felt like a lifetime ago now. She was glowing with late afternoon sunlight, a bright contrast to the bleakness of the funeral home.

But she no longer looked like she _belonged_ there.

"_Beth_," he choked out over a trembling lower lip, swallowing back more tears.

He wanted to jump up and wrap his arms around her. And he hated himself for that.

His jaw stiffened and he snapped, "Go away - you ain't _real_."

But she wouldn't. She just stood there and gazed at him sadly. He could see the water pooling in her sapphire eyes, the frown curving her perfect pink lips downward.

_I've lost my fucking mind, _he thought, paralyzed by the fear of his revelation. _I'll never be the same. She broke me. Losing her __**broke**__ me._

"You think what we had wasn't real?" She whispered. The hurt in her tone made his stomach drop out from beneath him and he suddenly wanted to _hit_ something.

"We never had _nothin'_. I imagined it all," he grumbled sadly. "Fer all I know, you was never real ta begin with."

She bit down on her lower lip and blinked away tears. "That's not true. You _know _it's not true. You have my body, my journal, and all those memories…"

"Of _what_?!" He snapped, his voice rising angrily and his muscles tensing. "Running. Arguing. Barely surviving. Bein' too goddamn _scared_ ta tell you how I felt before it was too _fucking late_ \- I don't _wanna_ remember it... I don't wanna remember _losing_ you."

Beth's lips were pressed tightly together and her eyes were glistening with unshed tears. Daryl glanced away, no longer afraid that she would disappear if he looked somewhere else for too long. He took a deep, shuddery breath and shook his head.

She spoke so softly that he had to strain to hear her. Except not really. Her voice was the only sound filling his ears. And now it sent dreadful shivers down his spine.

"But you _do_ remember… don't you?"

The grief consumed him so quickly and so suddenly that it was all he could do to squeeze his eyes shut and let out a loud sob. His whole body trembled from the weight of his own torturous mind and before he could will it away, before he had the chance to block it out like he'd been doing so well for so many days, the whole memory came back to him. It barrelled through him and stifled the loud thumping of his own heart.

_Beth, Beth, Beth. _He'd ran and dodged geeks and ran and ran and ran, crying out her name, praying she would be there where he'd told her to meet him. _I'm coming, just tell me you're okay! _He'd heard a gunshot - _no_. He'd heard _two_ gunshots. He was certain of it. Two separate weapons discharging at nearly the exact same second. And when he made it to the car, when he dropped her bag and followed the glow of red taillights and the sound of a quietly rumbling engine, he found what was left: three dead bodies. Three fresh corpses. Two strange men… and one woman who'd fought until her last breath. He'd been too late.

He'd been a _moment_ too late. A second, a heartbeat, a breath. It didn't matter how long because he hadn't fucking _made_ _it_ in time.

The scene had told all the story he needed. One of the strange men wearing a police uniform had been killed by a knife that was shoved through his throat - Beth's knife. A gun was loosely grasped in her pale and lifeless hand, and Daryl knew she'd wrestled it away from the man she'd stabbed. And the other 'officer' had a gun still grasped in his hand, too. She'd fought off and killed one of her attackers, but by the time she'd aimed and fired a round straight through the other attacker's heart, he'd already pulled out his weapon in self-defense and misfired. And his little misfire didn't just graze the side of her skull… it went right through it.

And just like that, Beth had been left in a heap on the ground, tangled amongst the bodies of two strangers who had intended to steal her away. She'd fought and killed and survived... and then her luck had simply run out. And Daryl hadn't even been there to help.

His breaths were coming short and ragged and his throat was constricting tightly. But he opened his eyes and let out another sob. He lifted his head weakly, shoulders hunched in shame and defeat, and looked over at Beth. He saw a tear sliding down her perfect porcelain cheek.

"I remember… _everything_," he whispered out, choked with grief.

He could see her swallowing hard, and then she spoke almost apologetically, "I _tried_, Daryl. I tried ta fight 'em off. But he _shot_ me… I never even saw it coming. All I could think about was not _leaving_ you."

He sobbed again and wiped away more tears with a shaky hand. All he could manage to say was, "Why didn't you _tell_ me…?"

Two more tears raced down her cheeks and now her eyes were full of them, sparkling blue and green behind the glistening saltwater of her pain. "I tried, Daryl... But you weren't ready to _hear _me."

He was hit with another onslaught of bittersweet memories. _"You did good, Beth. Did what ya had to." "...So did you."_

All the misheard conversations and weird lapses in silence flashed through his mind. _"If I can't help you, then what the hell am I here for?"_

His breath caught in his throat as everything fell together at once. _"We gotta make a decision…"_

He was sobbing harder, face soaked with wet tears. _"You did it, Daryl. It's okay… We're safe."_

He'd _been_ listening. _"What do you need?"_

He'd _tried_ to hear her. _"You promised you'd go check the car."_

But he hadn't _wanted_ to - not really.

He'd _wanted_ more time with her. He'd _needed_ those days they'd been robbed of, all those stolen moments that never got to play out. He'd been incapable of moving forward without finishing what they had unintentionally started. But there _was_ no closure to be had - not from her ghost or his hallucinations or any of the nonsensical things he could ever conjure up and imagine, whether in sleeping or in wake. He would never find solace in the memory of her gentle whispers or the reminiscence of her satin-smooth skin. All he had left was _pain_.

Endless pain and suffering and the suffocating weight of loneliness. The abysmal, all-consuming knowledge of being the _Last. Man. Standing_.

He no longer knew how to breathe on his own, let alone survive. There was nothing worth running for anymore, nothing worth fighting and living to see. Not in a world where Daryl had to face everything he'd lost all on his own, haunted by his thoughts and plagued by unrelenting memories. Not in a world _without_ _Beth_.

He opened his eyes and she was still there, gazing at him so remorsefully and so expectantly. It filled him with rage and he was pushing himself up to his feet, unsure of how he was gathering the strength to do so. But then he was standing and clenching his fists at his sides, tears blurring his vision and dehydration making his voice scratchy and hoarse.

"You didn't try _hard_ enough!" He yelled angrily, his arm slashing through the air on an old reflex of pent-up hostility. Even though he _knew_ he was wrong - he knew that he'd only seen what he _wanted_ to see and that his own mind had done the gymnastics necessary to navigate this whole horrendously wonderful illusion. But he wanted to be _angry_, he wanted to throw accusations and place blame. It was the only thing that could make any of it feel normal.

Beth didn't react. She stood firm and still, tears drying on her cheeks while fresh pools formed in her wide, cerulean eyes. She stared back at him with barely parted lips. She was silent. _Infuriatingly_ silent.

"You made me _care_! You made me have _**hope**_!" he cried out, teeth gritting and voice lowering to a furious growl. He took a step forward and jabbed a finger out in accusation. "How could you _do_ that ta me?!"

A tear escaped her eye and slid down her cheek, dripping off the edge of her chin. She took a shuddery breath and shook her head, so weakly that it was barely a movement at all. Then she whispered back, "I never _made_ you do anything. Everythin' that happened in our last days together… you _needed_. I _told_ you I wasn't gonna leave you and I _meant_ it... I stayed as long as I could, Daryl - just ta give you what you needed."

All the air left his body right alongside the anger and he stood before her deflated and uncertain. His arms hung limply at his sides as he stared into her eyes, searching for an answer he knew he'd never find. He regretted ever being angry with her, unable to fathom how he could've ever been frustrated with such an angelic being. He was speechless.

"I wanted to keep you _safe_. I wanted ta give you the strength to keep _going_," she said, her melodic voice choked with tears. "And I did… _You_ did."

Daryl blinked and stared back at her with indignation. He watched as a small smile tugged the corners of her mouth upward, curling her lips and sparking a light in her eyes that sent a million fluttering wings storming through his insides. His mouth was dry and for the first time all day, he felt like he needed a large swig of water.

"You stayed who you are, despite _everything_," she whispered. "You made it all _matter_… Don't you think that's beautiful?"

His nerves shattered and his legs nearly collapsed beneath him. But he remained upright and staring intently into her widening pupils. He stifled a shudder and swallowed down the sob that wanted to emit from his throat. The flood of tears in the corners of his eyes threatened to burst free.

"Yer all I got left. _You_ were all I needed," he muttered. "I couldn'ta got this far if I didn't have you… An' I can't go no farther _without_ you."

She replied, half-choked by the fresh wave of tears filling her eyes yet still defiant, "You don't _know_ that."

"_You_ told me - you _warned_ me!" He cried defensively, "You _knew_ how bad I fuckin' needed you even before _I_ did. And now look at me - I done lost my fuckin' mind. I'm a goddamn _wreck_. There ain't nothin' left. This is all I got… _Missing_ _you_. This ain't no way ta live."

Her mouth opened and closed and he could see that she was at a loss for words. He swallowed hard and licked his lips, refusing to glance away. She blinked long and slow and he watched her thick eyelashes rest against her milky cheeks for a split-second before he was forced to face the truth once more.

Finally, it poured from his mouth like vomit. Though the words were far less acidic, they were nonetheless painful and difficult to push out. And his tongue stung with the low vibration of his own voice.

"Beth… I _love_ you," Daryl choked out.

Then she was taking a step forward and before he could fully comprehend what was happening, her delicate hand was reaching up and cupping one of his scratchy cheeks. A tiny smile was curling her lips upward. And he was gazing down into endless cerulean pools, feeling her warm breath ghost across his chin once more.

"I know," she whispered. "I just never got the chance ta tell you… I love _you_, Daryl."

Her words fell upon him like an avalanche of cold snow, jarring and refreshing and terrifying and smothering all at the same time. The dam was bursting and tears were sprinting from his eyes and rolling down his cheeks. His hands were rising and his arms were wrapping around her frail form before he could think twice about it.

She didn't _feel_ like a hallucination or a ghost or a figment of his imagination. But then again, he'd already gone insane so how would he actually know? What did it matter? He embraced her and pulled her close against him and it almost felt like all the moments that hadn't really happened - their kiss in the yard, her warmth against him in the woods, her close proximity on the couch, the hours spent curled amongst one another, that endless and inescapable night in the upstairs bedroom. He knew this was yet another illusion, another trick of his own sick mind, but he didn't _care_. And he had no desire to pull away, no willpower to drag himself back into the darkness of reality once more.

"I would've stayed here forever with you," she breathed into his shoulder. "I _wish_ I could have. But I have to go now…"

"Please," he begged, his words thick and wet with sobs. He was leaning down and burying his face into the crook of her neck, weeping and mumbling against her warm skin while his body went slack against hers. "I can't do it. I can't keep goin' on my own. _Please…_"

Beth pulled his head away and forced him to look at her, silently urging him to open his eyes and gaze at her through his tear-soaked vision. His lower lip trembled and he choked back endless sobs, but she remained still and steady. And though there were tears filling her eyes as well, and though her cheeks were flushed and her chin was trembling with unrelenting grief, she remained firm and persistent.

Her small hands grasped the sides of his face while his thick arms went lax around her waist. She huffed out a shuddery breath and he watched a tear slide down her cheek.

"You did everything you could, Daryl. And you're a _good_ man... I won't say goodbye," Beth said. "But I'll see you again someday. I promise."

"Please, Beth," he quietly begged. "_Please…_ don't _leave_ me."

His eyelids fluttered shut for half a heartbeat, just long enough to feel her hot exhale against his skin. To feel her fingers gently clasp him and hesitate. Then he was staring down and drowning in watery lapis waves.

And she was arching an eyebrow meaningfully and giving him a gentle squeeze while nodding her head in the direction of the basement door. And her voice poured out over her sanguine lips, echoing in his ears and rattling every bone in his body.

"Don't leave _me_… okay?"

He slammed his eyes shut and leaned down again, burying his face deeper into the crook of her neck. He stifled another sob and nodded deftly.

A few seconds later, she was gone.

He was grasping nothing more than air in his trembling arms, replaying voice clips of a ghost deep within his ears and fighting back more sobs. His hands felt painfully empty and his skin was abnormally cold, a deep chill reverberating through his bones and ringing loudly down the length of his spine. He stretched his fingers out and willed her to return but she'd become nothing more than dissipating smoke between his hands.

The same four words were echoing in his ears on repeat, drowning out everything else: _"I love you, Daryl…"_

He was alone. Beth was _gone_.

And Daryl knew - he finally _knew_. For certain and without question…

He was gone, too.

* * *

It didn't take nearly as long as he expected. But then again, his head was filled to the brim and racing with countless memories and playbacks and _Beth, Beth, Beth_ while he went through all the motions, making it difficult to focus on something as menial as the sun's position in the sky. He couldn't have said he particularly _cared_ what time it was or how long it might've taken him anyway. It wasn't like he had any sort of schedule. And it wasn't like he had anything else to look forward to ever again, let alone anywhere to be or anything to do.

It was just him now. Just Daryl Dixon and the big, wide, horrifically _empty_ world. There was no one waiting for him or relying on him. Not anymore. He could take all the time he needed.

The sun sagged farther and farther in the sky until it had sunk completely behind the horizon. And he worked the whole time, occasionally pausing to sip from a bottle of water - only for the sake of continuing without the fear of collapsing before he was finished. His stomach growled angrily and he ignored it. There wasn't a single food left on earth that sounded appealing to him. The thought of eating all by himself was enough to diminish his appetite completely. None of those natural instincts mattered anymore. They were nothing more than brief breezes of wind across the back of his neck or annoying tickles on the sides of his face; faint reminders of a life he'd decisively left behind.

He was grateful for the battery-powered light in the basement because it meant he didn't have to pause to light candles once the mortuary grew too dark. And the entire first half of his plan - the most _important_ part - required him to be leaning over the metal table in the basement with good lighting for a long period of time. He didn't even notice the stiff aching in his neck and shoulders. He stopped occasionally throughout the long process to stretch out his cramping hands, repositioning his sore feet and ignoring how heavy his arms had become.

He worked methodically and carefully, and at one point or another, he began humming quietly to himself. If nothing else, the sound drowned out the haunting flashbacks in his head. At the same time, it made Beth feel a little more real. A little more _present_. He hummed all the songs she'd played over the last few days, and he didn't even notice he'd teared up halfway through the tune of _Free Bird_ until a tear fell down and landed on his sleeve. The ghostly tinkling of piano keys and strum of guitar strings echoed from somewhere deep within his core, taunting him.

And he continued to work.

Beth's body was dirty. So were her clothes. Her hair was matted with blood and sweat and brain matter. Daryl didn't want her to rest like that. He'd known what she'd meant when she told him not to leave her. And he fully intended on giving her every last ounce of care and respect that remained within him to fulfill that last request.

It had taken close to a dozen trips out to the small creek in the woods by the graveyard before he'd collected enough water, but he'd found a large bucket in one of the closets and used it to fill the bathtub with most of what he'd collected. Then he'd broken the bar of soap from Beth's bag into two halves and designated the first half for her clothes, which he'd gently stripped and peeled from her body. The mess of various fluids left splattered and crusted across nearly every inch of her bare skin made him gag but he had nothing left in his stomach to vomit up. He didn't even bother pausing to dry-heave. He'd left her corpse lying cold and naked on the metal table just long enough for him to take all her clothes - including the cardigan that still smelled like _living_ Beth - and meticulously scrub them clean in the bathtub. His fingers were red and raw by the time he was done and there were numerous stains that would never come out, but he was satisfied with the cleaner scent and lighter color of the fabric. He'd washed out the cops' blood and that was good enough for him. The cardigan didn't even lose all of her familiar smell (thankfully). He'd left the tub filled with murky reddish-brown water and hung her clothes across the railing of the back porch to dry in the cool evening air and diminishing sunlight.

After that, he'd gone back down into the basement and returned to the pungent, overwhelming stench of decomposition. The odor didn't even make him flinch anymore. And he'd bent over Beth's corpse and worked tediously with a handful of washcloths and sponges and the bucketful of clean water beside him. He'd taken the time to let her hair down and locate a brush to run through it after he'd washed out all the gray matter and blood and sweat, careful to leave her braid perfectly intact. He'd used the other half of the soap to wipe down every inch of her skin, huffing and grunting whenever he'd had to lift her dead weight or roll her over, gently scrubbing up and down and sideways and over until he could see the tiny pores in her pale flesh. He'd hummed to himself and stiffened his upper lip against a threatening onslaught of tears and sobs.

And he'd _worked_. He'd cleaned her. He'd respected her. He'd given her the care and attention she always deserved. And he couldn't have fucking cared less how loudly his muscles were protesting, how badly his body was aching, how sharp and painful every thump of his heart had become.

Daryl knew he would never be able to restore Beth's corpse back to the glory of her living, glowing, laughing, fighting self. Her skin would never be warm and sun-tanned again, her tummy would never be flat and soft again, her limbs would never be feather-light and agile again, her hair would never be luscious and golden again, her lips would never be pink and wet again, and that goddamn _hole_ in her head would never _fucking_ heal. But once he was finished, her body didn't appear nearly as ravaged by the unforgiving world that had claimed her for its own. He'd scrubbed and rinsed away all the gore, all the excrement, all the dirt and grime and sweat and visible remnants of mortal suffering. And though he _knew_ it wasn't possible and he _knew_ she was nowhere to be found within this lifeless cadaver lying before him and he _knew_ she was gone, _truly gone_… her corpse almost looked _happier _than before. Beth almost looked peaceful.

_That_ was how he wanted to remember her.

Once he finished patting her skin dry with a clean towel, he retrieved her clothes from the porch railing and brought them down to the basement. They weren't completely dry but it didn't really matter. He panted and grunted and breathed heavily as he worked to dress her decomposing body once more, careful and meticulous in his every movement. He made sure to stuff the tattered old journal into the back pocket of her jeans, where he'd always remembered seeing it. When he finally slipped her cardigan back on and buttoned it up and put her boots back onto her socked feet, he stepped away and gazed down at the finished product.

But he still wasn't satisfied. There were a couple more steps left before he could finally rest.

He'd thought about it on-and-off while he'd worked on cleaning Beth's clothes and body, and now that he'd reached the point when he needed to make a decision, he told himself that he'd already known the answer. He realized it had been sitting before him and glaring at him nearly the entire time. All he had to do was step into the parlor and _look_.

The casket that had been sitting at the front of the room since long before Daryl and Beth had ever come across the funeral home was still in its original spot. Daryl vividly remembered how soft the satin interior had been, how luxurious it had felt compared to the inside of a trunk and the hard ground, how easy it had been to lie down inside and relax while he listened to Beth's melodic singing. He'd never imagined it would be the final bed for anyone he knew, let alone anyone he loved. He'd never imagined he'd find any want or need in a casket these days, let alone the time to utilize such a thing. Yet now, when his only other option was the bare darkness of soil and a make-shift wrap of old sheets, it seemed the most proper final resting place for a woman like Beth… a woman he _loved_.

She deserved far more than he could've ever offered her anyway.

It was heavy. _Jesus fucking Christ_, it was heavy. Way heavier than it looked. But Daryl was strong and he was determined and he was running off adrenaline fumes, fueled by the vivid memory of Beth's final request and the prospect of the emotional reward from his own relief. And he hoisted the casket off its frame and dragged it out of the house, across the porch, down the stairs, through the yard, all the way to the hole he'd dug at the edge of the cemetery. He was covered in sweat and panting heavily by the time he finished, his muscles screaming in agony, his hair clinging to his neck and the sides of his face and his forehead and dripping with beads of perspiration, but he barely felt any of it.

His plan was almost complete. Nothing else mattered.

The sky was dark. The moon was high and white and crescent-shaped, its edges glistening sharp as a blade through the bare branches of dying trees. The air was crisp and cool, cutting through his lungs like a million tiny knives. But he couldn't focus on anything, not the sound of damp grass beneath his boots nor the incessant beating of his own heart, as he carried Beth's body across the yard. She was no heavier than she'd been when he'd lifted her from the metal table, or when he'd lugged her up the basement stairs, or when he'd cradled her carefully in his arms through the house and out the door and across the porch. The tears had already dried and receded in his eyes and all he could do was stare ahead, keeping his gaze locked on his destination. His feet kept moving, his legs kept taking long strides. His hands kept grasping her stiffened, frail form, fingers clenched around cold flesh.

He was so close. There was no turning back now.

It took quite a bit of effort and very careful movement in order for Daryl to climb down into the grave and crouch to carefully lay Beth's body inside the casket that he'd placed at the bottom. The coffin nearly engulfed her petite corpse considering it had been made for someone several inches taller than Daryl. Nonetheless, she fit within snugly and seemed to sink into the satin interior as though she were comfortable. He made sure to brush her hair back from her face and readjust her cardigan, gently folding her hands atop her middle. He could've sworn there was the faintest smile tugging at the corners of her mouth.

Surrounded by the dark soil of her grave, he leaned down close to her cold pale face. He took in a deep breath of bodily decomposition, death, and that fleeting last trace of _Beth_.

And then he squeezed his eyes shut and placed a light kiss upon her chilly forehead, letting his lips linger on the icy skin. He pulled back just enough to breathe out softly, "I love you. And I ain't ever leaving you."

Then he gently shut the lid of the casket and covered Beth for the very last time. He climbed back up and out of the grave and hoisted himself up to ground-level. And without wasting a second, he grabbed the waiting shovel firmly with both hands. He began to shovel the pile of damp soil into the hole he'd dug, watching loose dirt splatter out across the shiny surface of the casket with each thrust and heave. His back ached and his hands cramped and his knees trembled but he pushed through it, numb to everything except the gaping hole deep inside his chest.

His mind raced with a dozen jumbled songs all in Beth's voice while his ears rang with a hundred different melodies all borne from her dainty fingers. He gripped the handle of the shovel tighter and dug down into the dirt harder, more forcefully, more intently, burying… burying… _burying_.

He was led by nothing but moonlight and pure stubborn willpower. It pushed him to continue digging, continue burying, to complete his task. After a while, it felt like nothing more than hunting wildlife in the woods or dispersing Walkers or burying one-eyed dogs. Daryl was lost in his own head, going through reflexive actions and replaying memories that he wasn't even sure had really happened.

It took several moments for him to recognize his own voice while he repetitively stabbed and dug into the pile of displaced earth. He realized he was mumbling to himself, muttering to a tune that played from nowhere but inside his own mind. In the depths of his imagination, he could hear the soft tinkling of piano keys and the chest-vibrating strum of guitar strings. Tears were filling his eyes and blurring his vision. But he kept quietly singing along to the music that no one else could hear.

"..._Lord knows I can't change. Won't you fly high, free bird_…"

Then the crows returned. As if they were drawn to him. He heard the flutter of their feathers in the breeze, the clicking of their talons on the wooden fence, the soft _quork_s emitting from their beaks. He barely offered a glance upward to see one, then two, then three and four and five and six and seven. His lips pursed tightly shut and the music stopped. They lined up in a row like some sort of dark audience. Quiet. Waiting. _Watching_.

Always watching.

He huffed and grunted and heaved pound after pound of crumbly dirt and heavy soil into the grave, covering Beth's casket deeper and deeper and deeper still. He thought of his brother, of the look in Merle's dead eyes as warm blood and stringy innards hung from his once-laughing mouth. A sob caught in his throat and he continued shoveling.

"_Caw_!" A single crow yelled out into the night.

A tear ran down his cheek. He thought of Hershel, of the confident smile on the old man's face seconds before his head was detached from his body. Daryl gripped the shovel's handle tighter and felt a blister pop on his palm. He kept burying.

"_Caw_!" Another crow appeared from above and fluttered down to make a row of eight but Daryl didn't lift his head. Black wings flapped in his periphery.

A knot formed in his throat and the dirt rose higher in the grave, filling the cavernous opening inch by inch. He thought of little Sophia, how defenseless she'd been and how fucking _badly_ he'd wanted to save her. He thought of how fucking _hard_ he'd tried to find her. The fury bubbled up inside him and he fought back a surge of bile.

"_Caw_!" The first crow cried out as though it were voicing a command and within a heartbeat, a ninth black bird appeared to perch atop the fence.

He grunted and heaved another pile of heavy soil forward. He thought of that blood splatter on the ground and the child-sized shoes left behind and how his heart had plummeted to his feet while Beth had sobbed over the grisly remains of a child named Luke. He wondered why he couldn't put a face to a name and why he only thought of bones and red-stained boots and tears streaming down sunburnt cheeks. He remembered a rusty bus and a rushed plan and a never-ending, hollow sense of hopelessness.

The ninth crow sent out a long, shrill, "_Ca-a-a-aw_!"

He continued digging, sweating, panting, heaving mounds of soil forward. And he thought of baby Judith, how fragile she'd felt in his hardened arms and how expectantly her tiny blue eyes had gazed up at him. Then he thought of Carl, how terrified the prepubescent boy had looked with a weapon in his hand and bullets flying all around him, how plump his cheeks were and how wide and horror-stricken his brown eyes had been. Daryl swallowed down another sob.

He lifted the shovel and angrily slammed the metal head flat against the dirt, packing the damp soil down. The birds flittered and squawked, startled, but remained persistently posted along the fence. Daryl kept digging, kept heaving heap after heap of wet earth into the grave.

"_Caw_!" Two crows cried out in unison.

He thought of Rick, how the sheriff had evolved from an enemy to a survival partner to an ally to a friend… and then to _family_. Just like that. He thought of Carol and those beautiful goddamn Cherokee Roses. He thought of all the promises he'd ever made and could never keep. He thought of Glenn and Sasha and Maggie and Tyreese and Andrea and Michonne and T-Dog and Dale and and and…

And _Beth_.

"_Ca-caw_! _Ca-caw_!" All nine dark birds screamed loudly together. The sound echoed off the trees and headstones like a forlorn, off-key song.

He'd lost so many people. He'd lost so much hope. He'd lost every remaining sense of purpose he'd ever managed to find. Every salvaged compass slightly pointing towards humanity. Every last point of direction. Anything and any_one_ that had ever been worth fighting for, living for, _surviving_ for.

And then he'd lost _her_.

"_Ca-aw_!" A single crow continued its foreboding tune while the others went silent.

The stars above were unnaturally bright. The moon was rising higher into the black abyss of sky hovering over the world. And the birds wouldn't leave, watching him with beady, curious eyes and tilted black heads. Quietly _quork_ing to each other. Taunting him. Waiting.

They'd been waiting for something this whole time, he finally decided.

The shovel reached the bottom of his pile of displaced dirt. The grave was risen in the ground now, that familiar shape of a hole freshly dug and even more freshly filled, prominent because of the contents several feet below. It was quadruple the size of the small grave across the yard - the one that Beth had marked with a heavy stone.

_That __**I **__marked with a heavy stone,_ Daryl silently reminded himself. He could barely remember digging angrily into the earth beside the big tree, could barely recall gathering all the fluffy white dog parts into a tarp and placing the cold rock atop the mound of dirt he'd made. Just like he could barely remember digging Beth's grave.

He shut his eyes for a long moment and took in a deep breath.

"_Caw_!" His eyes popped open and he found that one final bird had descended to join the murder atop the fence. Their heads quirked, ruffled feathers gleaming blacker than Death's cloak.

All ten crows sat staring intently at him. Expectant. Insistent. Waiting.

He finally knew what they'd been waiting for: _death_. They'd smelled it around the car, around the mortuary, around _him_. They'd tried to tell him - in their own way - and he hadn't wanted to listen. Yet again.

They were waiting for their inevitable feast, he reckoned.

His stomach churned at the realization but he'd already accepted it as fact. He'd come to terms with his fate in a way he'd never have been able to before… in a way that wasn't possible before The Turn and Atlanta, before Rick, before the CDC, before Carol and Sophia, before the farm, before Dale, before the prison, before Michonne, before Carl and Lil' Asskicker, before The Governor, before Merle, before Hershel, and most of all… before _Beth_. Before they'd been running. Before the trunk and the moonshine shack and the weeks on the road and the days in the funeral home.

Before he'd ever had a taste of what it was like to live a life that made him _feel_ something. Before he'd ever really known what it meant to survive for anything meaningful or how it felt to run toward some semblance of a goal. Before he'd ever realized how it had kept him breathing to continue searching for that glimmer of hope in a world that had seemed so utterly hopeless. Before he'd ever known what it was like to actually have _faith_… even if that faith eventually killed him.

His fingers wrapped tighter around the shovel's handle. The crows sang out with another cold "_ca-a-aw_!"

But they could wait a little longer. They had all the time in the world.

And so did he.

* * *

The house felt colder somehow. Even though Daryl knew it was unchanged and he _knew_ it was all in his head. There was something different about the empty interior of the walls, something painful about every detail. He walked through blindly, navigating by memory and refusing to look around and risk accepting another harsh reminder of reality. Every inch of the place screamed _Beth _and he could no longer bear to acknowledge it.

He retrieved his crossbow and strapped it across his back with a grimace. The motion felt useless, like a pointless endeavor. Yet he couldn't quite bring himself to burn the old Horton that had served him so faithfully. He left Beth's travel-worn bag sitting on the table by the front door once he retrieved what he needed. There was no use for it anymore, he knew.

He grabbed the canister of gasoline that he'd set on the porch and unscrewed the cap. Beth's knife hung heavy on his belt as he walked leisurely through the den, the parlor, the kitchen, and the entryway, all the while tipping the gas canister forward and leaving a dribbled trail in his wake. The liquid hit the wood floors with a quiet _splash _and then went silent as it soaked into the boards and created an inconspicuous path and a strong odor throughout the first story of the old funeral home. Daryl smiled to himself as he poured, walking slowly and carefully.

He paused in the kitchen, staring down at the half-finished note lying on the tabletop. His stomach lurched and he lifted the canister with both hands to pour a meaningful drop upon the dust-covered paper.

There was only one way to finish the letter she'd started. He knew that now.

Then he continued his way outward to the front door, until the last drops of gasoline were dribbling out and he was tipping an empty canister above the porch steps of the house with nothing more than pungent fumes filling his nostrils. His smile grew into a grin and he tossed the canister onto the porch. Then he reached into his pocket and pulled out the box of matches he'd retrieved from Beth's bag.

The crows had brought more of their friends and they all sat perched in the trees around the house, watching and raucously flapping their wings, squawking loudly in angry protest. They'd become no more than background noise, though. He ignored them.

He thought of those stupid fucking bundles of cash he'd salvaged from the country club as he sparked the match. He thought of the bright blue in Beth's alcohol-lit eyes as the flame burned at the tips of his fingers, vividly recalling how eager and excited she'd looked through drying tears. He thought of the shattering glass against old wood and the splash of moonshine upon the many surfaces that felt all too familiar. He thought of her middle finger held high in the air. He thought of the smile that had appeared on her face… and he kept that image plastered in his mind as he tossed the lit match forward and watched it land atop the pool of gasoline on the porch. He imagined Beth's reckless laughter in his head as he watched the flames burst to life and grow to gradually consume the mortuary.

He couldn't think of anything else. It was all her. It had always _been_ her.

Daryl took a step back, then two more, and the fire blazed. It began as a weak flame that slowly grew to consume everything in its path, starting with the porch and rapidly moving to the front door and the entryway and all the rest of the interior. It took a while to reach the second story and swallow it up like the rest of the structure, but by then it was unstoppable.

Time slipped away as he became entranced with the view. Everything went up in a blaze before he could fully comprehend it. The fire drank every last bit of gasoline and consumed every inch of wood; it swallowed the dusty house whole and then licked its way upward to reach toward the dark night sky with greedy, red and orange claws. The flames grew larger and larger until they were bigger than anything he'd ever seen before, until they were the most destructive force he could've ever conjured. The fire seemed to devour every remnant of life within its path - every remnant he'd ever managed to salvage.

A thick plume of black smoke was rising towards the heavens and all Daryl could do was stare. He took a few steps back when the heat began to hit his face and make him sweat. But he couldn't tear his eyes away. The smell of burning wood and fabric filled his nostrils like a relief from the constant stench of death. He watched the hot flames consume it all, watched the monstrous blaze burn away everything he'd ever thought might've been real.

And he smiled.

There was nothing left to turn back for. There was no one left to see the fire or the smoke. There was no hope to come and none to be found. There was no point in living. And that was okay. It was _finally_ okay.

In fact, it was downright _beautiful_.

Daryl tore his gaze away from the blinding blaze and walked toward Beth's grave. One hand gripped the strap of his crossbow while the other hovered over the handle of her knife. But his stomach wasn't churning painfully, his throat wasn't constricting, his eyes weren't even watering from unshed tears. He was filled with purpose - a _final_ purpose. A fate that he had come to accept. His boots crunched softly over dying grass and damp soil.

The shovel was exactly where he'd left it. And it didn't take him long to dig into the hard ground, to carve out a cavern deep within the soil while the huge fire blazed at his back. His arms ached and the metal of the gun grew hot against the skin of his hip. Sweat poured down his face and made his clothes cling to his body but he kept breathing heavily, kept digging as fast he could. He kept thinking of Beth and her sanguine voice, her glowing face, the gold in her hair.

He was ready to be done. And right about now, the dark human-shaped hole he'd dug out was looking much cooler and more comfortable than the smoke-filled, ember-heavy night air that surrounded him. All the autumn chill had fled. His ears were filled with the loud crackling of insatiable flames.

He was nearly done by the time he began to hear the quiet groans of Walkers ambling through the woods, drawn toward the bright light of fire. He could barely hear them - _or_ the squawking crows - over the roar of the funeral home burning and crumbling. None of them mattered anyway. An entire herd of geeks could emerge from the woods in the next few minutes for all he cared. They'd never get to him in _time_ for it to matter.

Maybe it was the sense of reassurance filling him. Or maybe it was the closure, almost like a sick sort of satisfaction. He couldn't be sure. But it didn't _hurt_.

Digging his own grave was somehow far less painful than digging hers. And it was somehow relieving. Like he was finally letting go and making a plan that couldn't _be _changed. A plan that _no one _could ruin. An ending that was unaffected by unseen forces and unchanged by the horrific world they lived in. A fate that he finally had a _say_ in.

If there actually was a God, this was the one thing that sadistic and omniscient fucker could _never_ take from him.

Daryl stopped digging once he could accept that the hole was deep enough. He was panting and drenched with sweat but he could feel his heart pounding behind his chest and the fire blazing hot against his back. And he pulled out the pack of cigarettes from an inside pocket of his vest and lit one with a match. He inhaled a long drag of nicotine and tar and bittersweet relief.

One last smoke and one last good look around. That's all he needed now.

He made a point to savor every last second of being alive, to drink in all the details and store them… _somewhere_. Even if that place was going to be destroyed along with all his other memories. It felt right to take in every last bit he could. It felt like something Beth would've wanted. It felt like something she would've done.

The sky was black and twinkling with bright stars. He couldn't see the moon through the thick plumes of smoke rising above and drifting over him. But he knew it was there and that was enough for him. The moans and groans of undead beings were hovering all around him like a haunting melody. The crows had gone silent.

He didn't care. He blew a wispy cloud of cigarette smoke upwards and watched it dissipate.

All the flowers were dead. There wasn't so much as a dandelion left alive for him to pick. So he pulled Beth's knife from its sheath on his belt and knelt atop the freshly-overturned soil that buried her decaying body. He thought of her soft skin and her pale pink smile and her bright blue eyes and with one angry jab, he embedded the sharp point of her knife into the hard ground at the head of her grave. He pushed it down through damp soil until blades of dying grass tickled the handle and his hands and then he let go, retracting his arms and standing up to gaze down at the new marker. The worn metal gleamed up at him, the silver of the blade barely peeking up from where it was buried into the hard soil.

And as he gazed down at it, he realized that it was the only appropriate grave marker for such a woman. For such a being that had penetrated his mind and his heart and left a permanent impression. If he'd had enough sense to save a bit of moonshine from the shack, he would've chosen this exact moment to chug it all and place the empty jar in the dirt beside the knife. But he didn't have any of that left. He had nothing more than memories and dead flowers and squawking crows. And a crumbling, burning mortuary. He tossed the butt of his cigarette out into the darkness.

Something overtook him for the briefest moment and Daryl found himself picking up the shovel and heaving it through the air as hard and as far as he could, chucking it across the fence and the graveyard and the yellowed grass. He listened to it landing with an earthy _plop_ and a metallic _clink_ somewhere several feet away. His arms burned from the exertion of digging and throwing. He felt tears pooling in his eyes and quickly blinked them away. He turned around and forgot about the shovel altogether.

All that mattered now was the grave he'd dug.

The funeral home was still a blaze of hot crackling flames. But the crows had gone silent. He could feel their beady little black eyes on him, watching his every move. Analyzing his every mistake. Flapping their dark, ruffled feathers at every step he took. For the briefest second, he wondered if The Turn had made them too impatient for their own good; like maybe they were all too accustomed to easy meals and luxurious living thanks to the hoards of undead currently dominating the planet.

But then he remembered that it wasn't his fucking problem anymore. _None_ of that shit was his problem. It never had been. Not really.

Daryl slipped the crossbow off his back and gently placed it at the head of his freshly-dug grave. He couldn't be bothered with thinking about what might happen to the Horton, who might find it, how it might or might not be blown away in just the right hurricane gust of wind. He didn't care - he _couldn't_ care. It was going to sit there and define him just like Beth's knife would sit in its designated spot and define her. And that was all he really wanted.

A place where he could rest forever with Beth at his side. That's what this had all been about, after all. Whether he'd realized it or not. He knew now and that was the point. Wasn't it?

Daryl climbed down into the deep hole he'd dug and lay flat on his back. The dirt walls proved to be much cooler than the environment above ground and the sweat began to dissipate on his skin. He closed his eyes and took in a deep breath.

His nostrils filled with the unmistakable scent of fresh earth mixed with fire. He could still hear the flames crackling loudly, the wood snapping and breaking, the frame of the mortuary crumbling and shattering beneath the weight of burning heat. And faintly, behind those sounds, he heard the ravenous, undead groans of geeks as they shambled toward the brightest thing they could find. He reached up and scooped a few armfuls of loose dirt down to pile atop him. Then he lay back and shut his eyes with heavy soil covering his legs and the cold earth encasing him.

He thought of his mama, long dead and gone, and the sweet smile he so faintly remembered. He thought of his asshole pa. He thought of Merle and his stupid fucking motorcycle. He thought of Atlanta and the chaos of exploding bombs. He thought of Dale's RV and that shitty campsite at the edge of town. He thought of Shane and that fucking barn full of Walkers and firing a round through Dale's head. He thought of the farm going up in blinding flames. He thought of Rick. He thought of Carol. He thought of Merle and Sophia and Hershel and Glenn and T-Dog and Michonne. He thought of baby Judith and he thought of the prison. He thought of the murky waters in the Georgia creeks and the deep green of the southern woods and fields. He thought of The Governor and all those tanks, all those people, all those guns, all that _dying_…

And he thought of Beth. He thought of running, panicked, through miles and miles and miles of trees and dirt and tall grass. He thought of hesitating in country clubs and on golf courses and inside broken-down shacks. He thought of the bitter taste of moonshine on his tongue and the even more bitter taste of honest confessions. He thought of tears pooled in bright blue eyes and painful smiles and middle fingers thrust into the air. He thought of mumbled words and unspoken thoughts lingering on tongues over candlelight and he thought of one-eyed dogs and hand-written notes. He thought of heavy boots on creaky floors and bright green insects perched on dusty stairs and annoying crows hiding amongst the branches of dying trees. He thought of vast graveyards and flowers and candlelit dinners and warm fires and soft beds. He thought of music and singing and ladybugs and journal entries and devastatingly hopeful smiles.

He thought of fire and shovels and broken radios and glowing red taillights and bloody blades and dead men dressed in clean police uniforms. He thought of all the things he couldn't change and all the things he _did_ change.

And then Daryl thought of himself. For a split second, he remembered what it was like to _live_ before everything had become a case of survival. He remembered what it was like to feel something. To feel _anything_. And just as quickly, he was remembering how vastly different it all felt afterwards. How he'd never found his purpose until it was too _goddamn_ late. How he knew, deep down and with an instinct that he'd never realized was there, that he could _never_ feel anything that compared to this again. How he'd recognized that it simply wasn't possible. And how he'd accepted that he absolutely could not go on with that fact in his head.

How he'd realized that there was _no_ other option.

He pulled the flesh-warmed gun from his waistband and cradled it in both hands for a long moment. His eyes were stuck staring upward, locked on the blinking stars and the plumes of dark smoke passing overhead. His fingers grazed across the safety lock and the trigger. The sound of the bullet entering the chamber sent a final chill through his bones.

Daryl cocked the weapon and slowly brought it up to press the barrel against his temple. His eyes were set on a small constellation of stars and his breathing quickened for only a few seconds. Then he relaxed, his heart thumping steadily within his sternum and his muscles flexing in preparation. He counted his breaths: one… two… three… four… five… six… seven…

He heard a crow cry out from somewhere in the distance. "_Caw_!"

The flames of the burning mortuary crackled louder.

His finger trembled and hesitated over the trigger. The metal was icy and unrelenting against the tender skin of his temple. He took one last longing gaze at the cold soil walls around him and the star-speckled sky above.

He thought of Beth for a last time. Every word she'd ever spoken ran through his head all at once and reverberated off his skull in a haunting echo. He pictured her smile, her glowing skin, her blonde hair, her sparkling cerulean eyes. He imagined her warm palms pressed against his chest and her hot breath in his ear. He imagined her heavy body in his arms and her final words in his ears.

"_Pay attention, Daryl. Snap out of it."_

He shut his eyes. Everything behind his eyelids turned crimson red, blood red, _fury_ red... before settling to a calm, deep black. He relaxed.

His lips barely moved as he whispered out, "I'm sorry."

One last admission of guilt, one last apology that would never be heard. It drifted away on the wind to be carried off within plumes of smoke. He took in a final breath.

And he squeezed the trigger.

There was a deafening _bang_. Then nothing at all.

Everything was silent.

* * *

**The meaning of the crows:**

One for _sorrow_  
Two for _mirth_  
Three for a _wedding_  
Four for a _birth_  
Five for _silver_  
Six for _gold_  
Seven for a _secret never to be told_  
Eight for a _kiss_  
Nine for a _wish_  
and Ten for _a bird you must not miss_**.**


	8. Epilogue

**epilogue**

Daryl's eyelids fluttered open and he found himself lying flat on his back and gazing upward with confusion and awe. The sky was painted in dozens of shades he'd never seen before, all purple and pink and yellow and green and azure. A scattered flock of dark birds flew past quietly, disappearing into the distance.

The faintest sensation tickled his face and he blinked. For a second, he thought he might've been inside of a snowglobe. It seemed that a million glittering cosmos were falling upon him like snow or lighter-than-air feathers, tiny flakes of multi-colored wonder drifting down gently through the still air and dissipating atop his skin.

(Or were those ashes?)

He couldn't feel his arms or legs or the rest of his body until he moved them. Which took quite a long while considering how relaxed he was. He let the sparkling specks fall and cover him until he was certain it was snow - or something _like_ snow. He lay there until he could gather the strength to turn his head and comprehend that he was no longer lying several feet below the earth.

So where _was_ he?

The heavy weight that had slowed him down all his life was inexplicably gone. He rose to his feet and stood up straight and looked around. There were no aches in his muscles, no deep pain within his soul, no lack of oxygen. He felt light and free and for some reason, _relieved_. His mind was quiet and peaceful for the first time in his entire existence. And as he gazed around and took in his surroundings, he couldn't help but notice how absolutely _perfect_ everything was.

It was all indescribable, unlike anything he'd ever seen or so much as imagined. For a moment, he thought he might be back outside the funeral home. But he quickly realized he wasn't. The huge open field before him was too green, too full, too _alive_. The grass was tall and lush and green, brushing gently across his legs, and there were thick patches of bright flowers all throughout. Lavender and honeysuckle, daisies and orchids, roses and dandelions, and a thousand other plants he didn't recognize. There wasn't a single hint of any man-made structures within sight. Wispy puffs of dew-heavy fog hung over the rolling verdant hills.

And he began to walk through it.

There was nothing going on in his mind. He wasn't worried or full of questions. He wasn't apathetic either. He wasn't even angry nor the least bit sad. All the heavy guilt was gone, all the chest-tightening grief and remorse. He felt perfectly content - perfectly _peaceful_. The only way he could think to describe the sensation filling him was _happiness_. A happiness he hadn't truly felt since he was very young and very small. Something like _freedom_. His legs didn't feel stiff and iron-clad and his boots were practically weightless. He breathed deeply, taking in perfumed fresh air, and blinked and turned his head to take in the beauty of his surroundings.

He walked and walked and never got short of breath or tired or bored. He no longer felt rushed. There was no more anxiety prodding him from the inside and pushing him forward to destinations unknown. He felt no need to keep his eyes peeled or prepare to defend himself. The feeling of a threat was no more than a distant memory. And he knew there was nothing to fear.

Not anymore. Not in _this_ place.

The farther he walked, the more the scenery changed. There were parts that looked exactly like the Georgia countryside he'd known and loved, and there were even more parts that looked like the pictures of beautiful, far-off exotic lands that he'd only ever seen in books. He wasn't sure what he was heading toward but he couldn't say he cared either. It was nice to just… _be_. For once. He finally felt like he was able to rest. And he was beginning to feel like he could accept whatever this was.

There was no sun that he could see or feel, but the sky remained lit all the same and he had no trouble seeing where he was going, even when his surrounding grew slightly dimmer. He trekked through tall grass with ease and then into thick woods, canopies of leaves and lush green undergrowth and the largest trunks and brownest bark he'd ever seen. Nothing bothered him.

Everything was quiet, though it wasn't silent. He could hear the sound of _solace_.

The woods thinned out and he was slowly led through large gaps of trees and climbing, spindly vines. He paused and stared with fascination when the lightning bugs began to flash and glow. There were so many of them that it looked like a hundred different strings of holiday lights stretched between and around the trees, calmly hovering a few feet above the thick undergrowth. They multiplied and grew brighter the longer he stared and if he'd been able to feel his heartbeat, he was sure it would've been racing in this moment. Fireflies twinkled and blinked and flittered to and fro until the woods appeared to be dominated by a million tiny floating fairies.

He kept walking, careful not to disturb the little orbs of golden light. They were unbothered by his presence as he silently floated through the effervescent swarm like a ghost. He was smiling serenely and hadn't even realized it until he reached the other side.

The trees eventually opened up and thinned out until he was approaching a clearing. He found himself walking between monstrous green bushes and ivy stalks that towered high above his head. There were patches of flowers and colorful weeds peeking up around boulders and scattered across the narrow pebbled path he was subconsciously following, sunflowers off to the side that were taller than him with petals more yellow than anything he'd ever seen before. And he heard the unmistakable trickling of moving water.

A river, maybe. Or a lake or a pond. He couldn't stop himself from following the sound.

He didn't _want_ to stop himself.

The path led him uphill but he never got winded. He walked with leisure and ease, his eyes taking in everything he could while his chest continued to fill with wonderment and pure awe. He couldn't stop smiling. The corners of his mouth were constantly pulling upward and in any other place, his cheeks might've begun aching. But they didn't.

The sound of water grew closer, louder, more prominent in his ears. The path narrowed further and the plants lessened along the walkway. His boots crunched softly against pebbles and dirt. He kept following the sound, breathing in deeper and deeper as the scent of saltwater began to fill his nose.

Was it the sea that he was walking towards? He couldn't seem to care. He kept walking.

The path became nothing more than variously shaped rocks embedded into crunchy dirt. The greenery receded along the edges and kept their distance, tall trees sitting idly on either side. He was still trekking uphill, filled with excitement at the prospect of what he might find at the top. Then a new sound filled his ears and he paused: tiny paws and toenails clicking across rock.

It was distant and far-off at first, then it was rapidly approaching closer and closer. A balloon of anticipation swelled in the pit of his stomach and he stared ahead, waiting. The clicking continued over large flat boulders and small rocks and pebbles and dirt. And then a round fluff of glowing white fur appeared at the top of the hill, stopping for no more than a split-second before it descended and raced toward him. He remained frozen in the middle of the path, watching with bewilderment as the blur of white approached.

The dog stopped in front of his feet and looked up at Daryl with elation. The pup was so clean and white that he glowed and his tongue was flopping out the side of his mouth lazily. He appeared nothing less than absolutely delighted. And Daryl immediately recognized him despite the fact that he had _two_ bright and lively brown eyes.

He crouched down on one knee and reached out a hand. The pup didn't flinch away or hesitate at all - he leaned into Daryl's hand and eagerly accepted the ruffling of his ears and the scratches on his neck. Daryl thought the little mutt might've even smiled.

"Did you find yer Rainbow Bridge, li'l guy?" He asked, running a large hand through soft white fur and grinning to himself.

Then the dog yipped happily and pranced around for a bit, as though he were trying to say something. Daryl didn't even question it when he heard the quiet answer whispering inside his head: "_Yes, yes I did! And so did you! And please come see what else I found!_" He simply nodded and stepped forward, following the pup over more pebbled pathway until they were crossing the top of the hill.

The path morphed into large flat rocks and weaving outlines of packed earth, an array of plantlife and moss lining the edges and leading toward a particular destination. Daryl glanced around and saw skeletal trees dappered with bright green leaves, spindly branches and creeping greenery that promised a body of water nearby. The sound of a quiet lake was filling his ears and growing louder with every step he took.

The dog yipped again and then raced off into a thicket of bushes, disappearing from Daryl's sight. He didn't worry, though. He just kept walking, following the path and keeping his eyes locked forward.

A figure came into view far up ahead: a soft silhouette against the deep blue of never-ending water. Daryl walked toward it and didn't look away nor dare to blink. His footsteps had become silent. There was a faint rustling of grass off to his left but he paid it no mind. He knew the apocalypse dog was just having fun. He knew what he _really_ cared about was a little farther up ahead, sitting on the shore and waiting for him. And he felt no rush to reach her.

He could see her blonde hair and her dainty form outlined against the glistening cerulean of water and the deep azure of the horizon. And the closer he got, the more details he was able to decipher. He knew it was her even before he _knew_ it was her. He could smell her familiar saccharine scent drifting on the downwind, he could sense her presence from miles away, he could _feel_ her urging him forward. He walked and walked and then he could see the large boulder she was perched upon, the white cardigan draped across her shoulders, the way her blonde hair flapped lazily in the sea breeze. The bend of her elbows and the arch of her spine and the absolute ease in her posture.

And the calm, still, endless water that stretched out before her. She sat peacefully, completely content. He almost didn't want to disturb her. But any ounce of fear or self-doubt that had ever plagued him had fled his being long ago. He was no longer afraid or unsure or anxious. He never would be again.

She didn't turn her head until he was within a few feet of reaching her. As though she hadn't heard him approaching, even though he _knew_ she had. And when she glanced over her shoulder and met his curious gaze, she shot him a knowing smile. Her eyes flicked downward and she didn't speak before turning her head back to stare out at the water once more.

Daryl's stomach was all butterflies and specks of gold, yet he still couldn't feel his undoubtedly racing heart. He took in a deep breath that made his head swim and walked forward. He was grinning even wider than before, unrestrained and completely unabashed. A familiar sound filled his ears and ran through his veins like warm water.

She was humming quietly. A tune he recognized but could not name. It played across his nerves like the tinkle of piano keys; it vibrated his chest like the strum of guitar strings. It echoed in his head like a song he could never escape. A song he never _wanted_ to escape.

"_...we're gonna move to California to a house on the lake, and someday we will kiss in front of family and friends. Only cake and champagne and no need… for weapons... _"

He no longer felt pain at the recollection. In fact, he felt nothing but _happiness_. The angelic sound filled him with hope and deep desire and a thousand good memories. He kept walking forward, taking long confident strides. Until he was mere steps from her relaxed form. Until he was staring down at glowing golden hair and a cloud-white cardigan and frail shoulders.

Until he could hear her quiet breathing mixed with the gentle lapping of waves upon a pebbled shore. A bird cried out from somewhere far off across the water. The trees behind them rustled gently in a nonexistent breeze.

His breathing steadied. His muscles went lax. There was no guilt to haunt him like he'd dreaded. There was only fulfillment. And solace. And rest.

And _Beth_.

He was frozen as he watched her stand up and slowly turn around to face him. There were no wounds, no blood or scratches or dirt, no sweat or hunger or dehydration or exhaustion. The dirty old clothes he'd grown accustomed to seeing her in were gone, traded for cut-off denim shorts and a crisp yellow tank top and a feather-soft, long and flowy white cardigan. And bare feet, clean and unmarred. Her porcelain skin was glowing in a way he'd never seen before. Thick, shiny strands of sun-goldened hair blew gently about her neck and shoulders in the sea breeze.

She was smiling.

"_Daryl_." Even his name sounded like music as it poured off her lips.

He breathed out her name like a deep sigh of relief, "_Beth_."

Her smile widened and the butterflies beneath his skin flapped wildly. She took a silent step forward. He did the same.

"I was waiting for you," she said simply. "But I thought I'd be waiting a lot longer."

Her smile didn't falter, nor did the sparkle in her eyes. She wasn't angry or disappointed. She wasn't even sad. And though he thought he might be… he wasn't, either. And he knew he didn't need to apologize, but he felt that he owed her some kind of explanation. Even if she already understood.

Even though she already _did _understand.

"I didn't wanna _be_ the last man standing," he whispered. "Not if it meant standin' all alone."

She blinked and he watched tears pool in her sapphire eyes. But they were _happy_ tears. He could tell. She grinned and shook her head.

"You never would've been alone again, Daryl Dixon," she said softly, swiping a hand across her eyes. "But I'm glad you're here."

He smirked. "I'm glad _yer_ here…"

Her smile flickered and her voice grew softer. "I know it hurt…"

A distant and foreign feeling suddenly shot through his body. He remembered _everything_ \- just for a moment. Everything from before, all the heartache and loss and pain and eternally back-breaking, mind-warping guilt. The final moments that had led him here.

And then it all went away. As though the very last remnants of his mortal pain were fleeing him once and for all. He watched her lips slowly curve upward again and his heart soared.

"But aren't you glad you got to feel _all _of it…?" She finished quietly.

He couldn't help but smile.

"Yeah. I am," he breathed out. He licked his lips and spoke a little louder, "I missed you."

Beth raised her eyebrows and her smile turned teasing. "..._So bad_?"

He chuckled and nodded. "Jus' like you said I would."

The next thing he knew, she was rushing into his arms and embracing him. She was warm. He let her squeeze his middle tightly, bury her face in his chest, and he wrapped his arms around her and held her close and nuzzled his nose into the top of her hair. For the first time since he'd arrived in this place, he felt his heartbeat thumping lively again. And he felt hers, too.

They were beating in sync.

Daryl could've stayed like that forever. And they might have if it weren't for the familiar sound of doggy paws clicking across pebbles and then the reappearance of a friendly little white fluffball at their feet. The pup yipped happily and Beth pulled away just enough to glance down and giggle.

She looked up at Daryl, still smiling, and said, "He hasn't left my side since I got here. I think he was waitin' for you, too."

Daryl grunted and reluctantly let Beth slip out of his arms so she could crouch down and pet the dog. "'Spose there was a lotta things you were right about."

He'd never been so pleased to admit that someone was right. He'd wanted her to be right all along anyway. His old mind and his old life had just been incapable of allowing him to truly believe in such hopeful things.

She laughed and ruffled the top of the pup's head before standing up and facing Daryl once more, grinning with excitement. "I actually was, though - come and see."

She reached out and grabbed his hand and he let her lead him forward, curious and eager to see what she was talking about. Would there be more dogs? He quickly realized what she was bringing him to as they crossed the pebbled shore and approached the edge of the calm blue water. At first, he thought she might be dragging him out into the depths. But they stopped in the wet sand and she squeezed his hand tight and stood close beside him.

Then she pointed down into the water and he looked. He was suddenly filled with more awe and amazement than ever before.

Instead of sparkling clear water and sand and fish and seaweed, Daryl was staring down through crystalline liquid onto an aerial view of _people…_ peopleliving on Earth, people running around and fleeing for their lives and desperately trying to survive the apocalyptic chaos that had come to define the mortal world. There were Walkers, too. And weapons. And blood and screaming and killing and suffering. And all the awful, horrific, painful things that felt like nothing more than a distant nightmare.

He watched in horror but he couldn't seem to feel the fear or disgust anymore. The sadness, the guilt, the remorse… it was all _gone_. He felt like he was watching a movie play out. He knew he had no control over the ending and he certainly wasn't getting any satisfaction out of watching the characters suffer, but… he _knew_ that it would all be okay in the end. For _all_ of them. No matter _what_ happened. There was an ending where they all found happiness and peace and _rest_. And he knew they'd get there in their own time.

Beth whispered softly beside him, "They made it… they _all_ made it."

And _they_ _had_. Daryl finally allowed himself to recognize all the people he was watching: Rick. Carl. Michonne. Baby Judith. Carol. Maggie. Glenn. Tyreese. Sasha. Bob. Every person he'd been so sure had died in the fall of the prison or immediately afterwards, every last living person that he'd given a shit about. They were alive and they were fighting and they were playing out the rest of their stories.

The realization sent a warm surge of hope through his whole body and he smiled. He gave Beth's hand a squeeze and felt her lean into his side.

"We can't _do_ anything - we can't interfere," she explained quietly. "But we can watch. And sometimes, we can let them know we're waiting…"

He grunted in agreement. He didn't _want_ to do anything. He couldn't help them from where he was and he'd already known it long before Beth told him.

He had no part in this grand plan anymore. And he was okay with that.

So they watched.

He couldn't have said how long they stood and stared down into the water, down at what was left of the world that had brought them together. But it was long enough to see Carol and Tyreese follow the huge plumes of smoke until they were led to the pile of burning rubble that had once been the funeral home. And shortly after that, Daryl watched with teary eyes as Carol discovered the side-by-side graves and the familiar crossbow and the half-buried, partially decayed corpse that had once been his body. And then the familiar knife and the strange gun and the car that still reeked of death and the smashed radio. He even listened for a while when she discussed it with Tyreese and put all the pieces together. And he was grateful that she didn't dig up the casket he'd worked so hard to bury, even more grateful when she finished burying his brainless old corpse. Though she quietly wept over his grave for an entire night, the words she whispered out in homage sent a new sensation of peace through him - like maybe he actually _had_ left a meaningful impression during his time spent alive.

A while later, once the rest of their survivor family had reunited, he and Beth listened closely as Carol explained her findings to Maggie and Rick and the others. And Maggie sobbed and wailed painfully but Beth merely grasped Daryl's hand a little tighter and leaned into him a little closer. He did the same as he watched Rick mourn for them both. But neither of them shed a tear.

They didn't have to feel that old pain up here. They just had to wait patiently for the day that they could welcome the rest of their family with open arms.

Daryl was more than delighted to see that Carl and Li'l Asskicker had survived and _kept_ surviving. He might've been able to stand there and watch them all day, along with Rick and Carol and Michonne and all the others he'd grown to care for so deeply. But Beth was tugging on his hand and he tore his gaze away to meet her sparkling blue eyes.

He still felt more at peace than he'd ever been before.

"There's more," she said, grinning and grasping one of his large hands in both of hers.

She was emanating warmth and constantly glowing. Everything around them still looked exactly the same despite the fact that they'd been standing on the shore and watching their old friends survive for days and weeks on end. But he already knew that time didn't exist in this place. It didn't _matter_ here. The sun didn't rise or set unless they wanted it to. The sky was still just as bright, the water just as calm, the breeze just as gentle. And he could hear the clicking of the white dog's paws across rocks nearby.

Wordlessly, he leaned down and pressed his lips to hers and lingered. She kissed him back, slipping her dainty arms around his neck and pulling him closer. He breathed in her scent and wondered to himself what else could possibly make this place any better.

She finally broke away and her hot breath ghosted across his parted lips as she whispered, "I love you. I'm so glad you're here. With me."

He smiled and kissed her again, harder this time. Then he pulled back and gazed down at her, smirking lazily. "Me, too… I love you more'an you coulda ever known."

The words came easily and uninhibited here. As did the laughter. He'd never felt so light, so carefree, so resolute and so _happy_.

She blushed and glanced away momentarily and her arms tightened around his neck affectionately.

"But there's _more_," she insisted, grinning and meeting his eyes again. "Wait till you see."

He grunted in confusion and asked, "What more could I want?"

She giggled and said, "There's people I want you ta meet… and other people that have been waiting for you."

The realization fell upon him so heavily and so suddenly that he didn't even have time to react before an all-too-familiar voice was reaching his ears from somewhere in the distance.

"_You didn't forget about me already, did ya, li'l brother? I __**know**__ ya missed me._"

And then another voice, familiar all the same but almost foreign because he hadn't heard it in so long.

"_Daryl - is that my baby boy? Daryl, it's your Mama._"

They were approaching from off to the side but Daryl couldn't turn his head and look just yet. His bewildered gaze was locked on Beth and her wide blue eyes, the grin that was split across her face, the absolute elation radiating off her skin. She retracted her arms from around his neck and grasped his hands tightly in both of hers and laughed loudly. She sounded happier than he could ever recall hearing her.

"I'll meet yer mom an' then you can meet mine - and my daddy wants ta see you, too," she grinned. She raised her eyebrows and laughed joyfully. "He said he always liked you."

Daryl was smiling. And his eyes were filling with fresh tears but he didn't feel even an ounce of sadness.

"That little girl's been waitin' for you, too," Beth added. "Carol's little girl."

He bristled with elation, almost overcome with joy at the prospect of seeing Merle and his mama and Hershel and Sophia again. He couldn't help it - he started laughing, too.

He squeezed her hands and urged her to lead him toward the familiar voices.

"I can't wait. Let's go."

**the end.**


End file.
